TTTTTTY  ri  lYiYrf  rYrfYt  rtrt  rt 


Classic  flfe^tbs  in  Hrt 


HENNER.  —  ANDROMEDA  (see  page   2I<Ji). 


ulia  deWolf  Addison 


Author  of  "  The  Art  of  the  Pilli  Palace,"  "  The 

Art  of  the  National  Gallery,  "  "  Arts  and  Crafts  in 

the  Middle  Ages, ' '  etc. 


L-C  PAGE- ^-COMPANY 
BOSTONS  PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1904 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 

Fourth  Impression,  April,  1910 


COLONIAL   PRESS: 

Ekctrotvfxd  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  S intends  &•  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


preface 


IN  dealing  with  the  subject  of  Classic  Myths  in 
Art,  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  write  a  manual  of 
mythology.  Many  of  the  most  interesting  myths 
of  literature  are  hardly  ever  brought  into  the  field 
of  representation,  and  of  these  I  propose  to  make  no 
mention.  Only  in  so  far  as  the  subject  can  be  illus- 
trated by  the  works  of  ancient  sculptors  or  more 
modern  painters,  is  it  available  in  a  volume  of  this 
description. 

Neither  have  we  space  to  consider  and  analyze 
the  origins  of  the  stories,  which  can  usually  be  traced 
to  some  natural  conditions  or  phenomena.  It  is 
only  in  the  relation  of  these  stories  to  art  that  our 
course  is  planned,  the  literary  aspect  of  the  myths 
not  being  within  our  scope.  Many  readers  are 
familiar  with  some  one  or  more  of  the  excellent 
handbooks  of  mythology,  or,  better  still,  with  the 
Greek  authors  themselves,  who  give  colour  and 
atmosphere  to  the  legends  which  nothing  but  the 
original  sources  can  furnish. 

In  illustrating  the  book  I  have  made  it  a  general 


2073815 


vi  preface 

rule  not  to  use  such  statues  or  pictures  as  are  avail- 
able to  every  one  in  familiar  casts  or  prints;  but 
rather  I  have  selected  for  presentation  some  of 
the  less  well-known  works  of  art,  even  though  they 
be  not  so  famous  as  the  antique. 

JULIA  DE  WOLF  ADDISON. 
1904. 


Contents 


CHAPTBR  PAGK 

I.  THE  ACCESSION  OF  ZEUS         .        .        .        .        i 

II.  OLYMPUS,  OCEAN,  AND  HADES       ...      12 

III.    THE  LOVES  OF  ZEUS 32 

IV.     VENUS,  APHRODITE 63 

V.  APOLLO  AND  THE  MUSES        ....       88 

VI.  MYTHS  RELATING  TO  DIANA  .        .        .        .no 

VII.  PALLAS,  MARS,  MERCURY,  AND  VULCAN        .     129 

VIII.  BACCHUS  AND  His  TRAIN        .        .        .        .150 

IX.     CLASSIC  LOVE-STORIES 167 

X.     HERCULES .188 

XI.  THESEUS  AND  THE  CENTAURS         .        .        .     199 

XII.     PERSEUS 211 

XIII.     MINOR  MYTHS 228 

XIV.  HEROES  OF  THE  TROJAN  WAR       .        .        .    250 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 275 

INDEX •        •    277 


%ist  of  Ullustratfons 


PAGE 

HENNER.  —  Andromeda  (see  page  219}  .       Frontispiece 

PEKING  DEL  VAGA.  —  Battle  of  the  Giants  ...  8 
GIULIO  ROMANO. —  Infancy  of  Jupiter  .  .  .12 

RAPHAEL.  —  Triumph  of  Galatea  .  .  .  .  .21 
TINTORETTO.  —  Leda  and  the  Swan  .  .  .  36 

VERONESE.  —  Danae  and  the  Shower  of  Gold  .  .  46 
VERONESE.  —  Europa  and  the  Bull  ....  50 

TITIAN.  —  Jupiter  and  Antiope 57 

BOTTICELLI.  —  Birth  of  Venus 66 

TITIAN. —  Head  of  Venus 72 

RUBENS Venus  and  Adonis 85 

BERNINI. — Apollo  and  Daphne 95 

GREEK  PAINTING.  —  Muse  of  Cortona  .        .        .     100 

GIULIO  ROMANO. — Apollo  and  the  Muses    .         .         .102 

MANTEGNA.  —  Parnassus 106 

CORREGGIO.  —  Diana ill 

DOMENICHINO.  —  Diana  and  Her  Nymphs  .  .  .116 
TINTORETTO.  —  Minerva  Rebuking  Mars  .  .  .130 
ALBANO. —  Mercury  Giving  the  Lyre  to  Apollo  .  .  139 

VELASQUEZ.  —  Forge  of  Vulcan 146 

LEONARDO  DA  VINCI  (ATTRIBUTED).  —  Bacchus.  .  154 
TINTORETTO.  —  Marriage  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  .  1 56 
CAMUCCINO.  —  Cupid  and  Psyche  before  Jupiter  .  .178 

VOLTER.RANQ — Sleeping  Love 189 

be 


Xfst  of  Illustrations 


PACK 


GUIDO  RENI.  —  Cephalus  and  Procris    .         .         .-  186 

ANNIBALE  CARACCI — Choice  of  Hercules  .        .        .191 

POLLAJUOLO Hercules  and  Antaeus    .         .         .         .194 

ANTIQUE  BRONZE — A  Centaur 210 

LEONARDO  DA  VINCI  (ATTRIBUTED).  —  Head  of  Medusa    2 1 8 
PIERO  DI  COSIMO.  —  Perseus  and  Andromeda  (detail)    222 

TITIAN Flora 228 

ANTIQUE  MARBLE The  Three  Graces      .        .        .     232 

PELLEGRINO Hebe 236 

GUIDO  RENI.  —  Atalanta's  Race 243 

CANOVA Daedalus  and  Icarus 245 

VAN  DER  WERFF.  —  Judgment  of  Paris       .        .        .251 

DAVID.  —  Paris  and  Helen 253 

Dosso  Dossi Circe 263 

GUIDO  RENI Ulysses  and  Nausicaa  ....    265 

PINTURICCHIO Return  of  Ulysses      .        .        .        .267 


Classic  fl&#bs  fn  Htt 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ACCESSION   OF   ZEUS 

THE  pictures  of  the  old  masters  deal  generally 
with  religious  subjects,  but  at  the  approach  of  the 
Renaissance  the  revived  interest  in  classic  art  and 
culture  led  many  of  the  artists  to  paint  scenes  from 
the  mythology  of  the  Greeks.  It  is  with  these  pic- 
tures, rather  more  than  with  ancient  sculpture,  that 
this  volume  will  concern  itself.  Certain  gods  and 
heroes  naturally  became  favourites  with  the  painters, 
while  others  were  hardly  ever  represented.  There- 
fore, one  cannot  study  mythology  systematically 
from  the  pictures  of  the  Renaissance,  but  one  can, 
by  studying  the  pictures  of  the  Renaissance,  discover 
what  features  in  the  old  legends  had  predominated 
and  survived  with  perennial  interest  for  the  later 
students  of  classic  myth. 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


"  Each  great  master  of  the  Renaissance,"  says 
Symonds,  "  had  his  own  relation  to  classical  mythol- 
ogy." Symonds  then  enumerates  Leda  and  the 
Swan,  as  treated  by  Da  Vinci  and  Michelangelo; 
Correggio's  Danae  and  lo;  Titian  and  Tintoretto, 
with  their  rival  pictures  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne; 
Raphael's  Galatea;  Pollajuolo's  Hercules;  Vero- 
nese's Europa;  Dosso  Dossi's  Circe;  Palma's 
Venus.  "  All  these,"  he  continues,  "  to  mention 
none  but  pictures  familiar  to  every  traveller,  .  .  . 
raise  for  the  student  of  the  classical  revival  absorb- 
ing questions  relative  to  the  influences  of  pagan 
myths  upon  the  modern  imagination." 

The  aim  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  been  to  express 
subtle  emotions  and  to  suggest  thought  ;  the  aim  of 
the  Renaissance  was  to  represent  beautiful  nude 
bodies,  and  to  call  the  picture  by  whatever  name  it 
might  fittingly  bear.  Paris  Bordone  is  chronicled 
as  having  executed  for  a  high  ecclesiastic  "  a  singu- 
larly beautiful  church  picture,  with  one  of  Venus 
and  Cupid  for  his  chamber."  The  same  duplex  type 
of  order  seems  to  have  been  repeated  for  the  Cardinal 
of  Lorraine,  for  whom  he  painted  "  The  Ecce  Homo, 
with  a  Jupiter  and  lo."  Another  curiously  assorted 
pair  was  sent  to  Flanders,  —  a  Magdalen  and  a 
Diana  bathing. 

The  artists  of  the  early  Renaissance  had  little 
knowledge  of  Greek  conditions  ;  they  topk  their 


Ube  accession  ot  Zeus  3 

stories  from  Ovid,  and  then  interpreted  them  in  the 
light  of  their  own  experience,  which  was  practically 
a  mediaeval  experience.  As  Vernon  Lee  has  so 
aptly  expressed  it :  "  They  made  up  their  paganism 
for  themselves,  out  of  all  the  pleasant  things  they 
knew;  their  fancy  has  brooded  upon  it;  and  the 
very  details  that  make  us  laugh,  the  details  coming 
direct  from  the  Middle  Ages,  the  spirit  in  glaring 
opposition  occasionally  to  that  of  antiquity,  bring 
home  to  us  how  completely  this  pagan  fairyland  is 
a  genuine  reality  to  these  men."  Giotto  carved  two 
of  the  little  medallions  on  the  Campanile,  in  Flor- 
ence ;  one,  supposed  to  represent  Phidias,  is  a  sculp- 
tor, engaged  in  hewing  a  human  shape  out  of  a  block 
of  stone  with  chisel  and  mallet;  the  other,  Apelles, 
typical  of  the  art  of  painting,  is  naively  portrayed 
as  working  on  an  elaborate  altar-piece,  in  the  form 
of  a  triptych. 

In  the  study  of  Greek  art,  Taine  has  justly 
summed  up  the  chief  needs  of  the  reader :  "  A 
Homer  and  a  Plato  are  better  guides  than  all  the 
archaeologists,  artists,  and  catalogues  in  the  world." 
The  original  sources  are  better  always  than  later 
commentators.  No  one  can  tell  the  story  of  a 
classic  myth  so  well  to-day  as  Ovid  told  it  twenty 
centuries  ago.  The  difference  between  the  spirit 
of  the  Greek  artist  and  the  artist  of  the  Renaissance 
is  well  expressed  by  Taine.  He  says ;  "  Both  are 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


equally  pagan  ;  that  is  to  say,  wholly  occupied  with 
the  present  and  physical  life.  Notwithstanding  this, 
they  are  separated  by  two  notable  differences;  the 
antique  is  more  calm  ;  ...  it  is  that  of  animal  life, 
almost  vegetative  ;  man  lives  for  the  sake  of  living, 
and  desires  nothing  beyond.  .  .  .  The  Renaissance 
sculptor,  on  the  other  hand,  imitates  the  real  more 
subtly,  and  aims  more  at  expression."  The  Greek 
love  for  beauty  extended  even  to  the  commonest 
and  most  homely  details;  when  an  object  could 
not  be  externally  beautiful,  they  chose  that  it  should 
be  accurately  adapted  to  its  use;  and  any  office 
well  performed,  be  it  ever  so  menial,  deserved  recog- 
nition. Plato  has  immortalized  a  baker  who  hap- 
pened to  be  especially  skilful  in  his  craft;  and  also 
an  innkeeper  who  understood  perfectly  the  difficult 
art  of  harmonizing  all  the  diverse  elements  of  his 
exacting  calling. 

The  distinction  made  by  Prof.  C.  M.  Gayley  be- 
tween the  fable  and  the  myth  will  be  worth  quoting 
at  this  point.  "  A  fable  is  a  story,"  says  Professor 
Gayley,  "  like  that  of  King  Log,  or  the  Fox  and 
the  Grapes,  in  which  characters  and  plot,  neither  pre- 
tending to  reality  nor  demanding  credence,  are  fabri- 
cated confessedly  as  the  vehicle  of  moral  or  didactic 
instruction.  .  .  .  Myths,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
stories  of  anonymous  origin,  prevalent  among  primi- 
tive people,  and  by  them  accepted  as  true,  concerning 


TTbe  Hccesston  of  Z^eus  s 

supernatural  beings  and  events,  or  natural  beings 
and  events  influenced  by  supernatural  agencies. 
Fables  are  made  by  individuals.  .  .  .  Myths  are 
born,  not  made."  The  myths  grew  up  as  anecdotes 
about  the  supernatural  beings  of  the  Greek  worship, 
who,  in  their  turn,  were  an  outcome  and  embodi- 
ment of  nature-worship.  John  Fiske,  in  his  "  Myths 
and  Myth-makers  "  says :  "  To  the  ancients,  the 
moon  was  not  a  lifeless  body  of  stones  and  clods; 
it  was  the  horned  huntress  Artemis,  coursing 
through  the  upper  ether,  or  bathing  herself  in  a 
clear  lake;  or  it  was  Aphrodite,  protectress  of 
lovers,  born  of  the  sea-foam  in  the  East;  .  .  .  The 
yellow-haired  Phoebus  drove  westward  all  day  in  his 
flaming  chariot."  Personality  was  ascribed  to  the 
Dawn,  to  Night,  to  the  Winds,  and  to  Storms ;  each 
had  its  presiding  genius,  and  each  received  a  part 
of  the  Pantheistic  worship.  Euripides  speaks  of 
"  the  limitless  ether  which  holds  the  earth  in  its 
moist  grasp."  Myth  may  be  understood  to  include 
the  stories  related  of  the  divinities  of  Olympus,  and 
also  the  deeds  and  achievements  of  the  heroes  of 
Greece,  who,  though  not  always  worshipped  as  gods, 
were  partly  mythical  while  they  were  partly  histori- 
cal. Besides  gods  and  heroes,  the  Greek  myth  dealt 
with  various  fabulous  creatures,  such  as  fauns,  gor- 
gons,  and  nymphs,  who  have  figured  largely  in  the 
art  of  all  following  generations. 


6  Classic  /IDstbs  in  Hrt 

Among  the  primal  divinities  of  Greece  were  the 
elements.  Owing  to  a  system  of  geography  which 
recognized  the  earth  as  a  flat  disc,  the  Greeks  con- 
veniently placed  their  heaven  in  the  central  position 
upon  this  plane,  while  River  Ocean  was  considered 
to  surround  the  whole  with  an  undefined  boundary 
of  water.  Thus  the  gods  of  Olympus  were  deities 
of  air  and  land,  while  the  gods  of  the  ocean  presided 
over  the  rivers  and  seas.  Monsters  of  an  aquatic 
variety  inhabited  the  waters.  The  Dawn  and  the 
Sun  and  Moon  were  impersonated  by  gods  and 
goddesses,  who  were  very  popular  in  art. 

Hesiod,  in  his  Theogony,  deals  with  the  creation 
of  the  world  according  to  the  Greek  belief: 

"  Chaos,  of  all  the  origin,  gave  birth 
First  to  her  offspring,  the  wide-bosomed  Earth, 
The  seat  secure  of  all  the  Gods,  who  now 
Possess  Olympus  ever  clothed  in  snow. 
Th'  abodes  of  Hell  from  the  same  fountain  rise 
A  gloomy  land  that  subterranean  lies.  .  .  . 
At  length  the  Ocean,  with  his  pools  profound, 
Whose  whirling  streams  pursue  their  rapid  round 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  is  born." 

One  of  the  first  events  recognized  in  art  was  the 
Battle  of  the  Giants,  or  Fall  of  the  Titans.  The  first 
gigantic  race  which  peopled  the  earth  had  to  be 
swept  away  before  Jupiter  and  his  brothers  could 
gain  the  ascendency,  and  reign  as  gods. 


Bccession  ot  Zeus  i 

"  Furious  and  swift  the  Titan  phalanx  drove 
And  both  with  mighty  force  for  empire  strove. 
The  Ocean  roared  from  every  part  profound, 
And  the  Earth  bellowed  from  her  inmost  ground. 
Heaven  groans;    and  to  the  gods  conflicting  bends 
And  the  loud  tumult  high  Olympus  rends. 
So  strong  the  darts  from  god  to  god  were  hurled, 
The  clamour  reached  the  subterranean  world, 
And  where,  with  haughty  strides,  each  warrior  trod, 
Hell  felt  the  weight,  and  sunk  beneath  the  god." 

Jupiter,  having-  dethroned  his  father  Saturn, 
reigned  in  Olympus.  As  Hesiod  wrote : 

"  Great  Jove,  their  sire,  who  rules  th'  ethereal  plains, 
Confirmed  in  power,  of  gods  the  monarch  reigns. 
His  father  Saturn  hurled  from  his  command, 
He  grasps  the  thunder  with  his  conquering  hand: 
He  gives  the  bolts  their  vigour  as  they  fly, 
And  bids   the   lurid   lightning  pierce   the   sky." 

Primarily,  Jupiter  stands  as  emblematic  of  power. 
The  great  altar  at  Pergamus,  casts  of  which  have 
been  made,  displays  in  its  famous  sculptures  this 
Battle  of  the  Giants.  It  is  the  work  of  sculptors  of 
the  third  century  B.  c.,  and  shows  struggling  forms 
fighting  for  liberty.  The  action  in  the  great  battered 
fragments  is  noble,  and  is  equal,  in  many  respects, 
to  the  best  work  of  Scopas  and  Praxiteles. 

In  Giulio  Romano's  great  frescoes  at  Mantua,  he 
treats  this  subject  in  the  spirit  of  his  time;  but  a 


8  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

good  deal  of  classic  feeling  remains  in  the  Titan 
forms  huddling  in  their  beds  of  cloud,  and  driven 
hurtling  away  from  the  light  by  the  invincible  power 
of  Jove  and  his  army.  They  are  well-drawn,  writh- 
ing bodies,  but,  lacking  in  virility  of  purpose,  they 
are  forced  to  give  way  before  their  conqueror. 

"  Erect  and  dauntless  see  the  Thunderer  stand, 
The  bolts  red  hissing  from  his  vengeful  hand." 

In  the  Prado  at  Madrid  is  a  painting  by  Gouwi 
of  the  Titans'  fall,  and  one  in  Dresden  by  Schon- 
feldt. 

Perino  del  Vaga's  fresco  of  the  Battle  of  the 
Giants,  in  the  Doria  Palace,  in  Genoa,  is  a  good  bit 
of  Renaissance  realism.  The  victory  has  here  been 
accomplished;  the  fallen  Titans  lie  on  the  earth 
in  the  lower  plane  of  the  fresco,  while  above,  in  the 
Olympic  heaven,  at  the  top  of  the  lunette,  Jupiter 
and  the  divinities  about  him  are  serenely  seated, 
in  state,  while  the  Thunderer  still  hurls  his  bolts 
among  his  disconsolate  precursors.  The  figures  are 
stiff,  and  yet  there  is  a  certain  monumental  quality 
in  the  whole,  which  is  much  more  satisfactory  than 
the  inextricable  mixture  of  nude  bodies  and  shafts 
of  flame  which  characterize  so  many  representations 
of  this  scene. 

Vasari  alludes  to  a  "  Gigantomachia,"  painted  by 


Ube  accession  of  £eus  9 

Licinio  (Pordenone)  on  the  Tinghi  Palace.  Some 
of  the  giants  were  being  hurled  to  their  doom  by 
Jove's  thunderbolts,  while  others  attacked  Diana, 
who  defended  herself  with  a  lighted  torch. 

The  most  pathetic  tale  of  all  the  Titans  is  that 
of  Prometheus,  the  great  misunderstood  benefactor, 
who,  for  his  theft  of  fire,  was  condemned  to  suffer 
eternal  torture,  chained  to  a  rock,  while  a  vulture 
preyed  upon  his  vitals.  This  scene  has  been  taken 
for  many  gruesome  and  morbid  works  of  art. 
Prometheus  represents  a  great  type,  which,  though 
powerful  in  one  way,  is  helpless  in  another.  As 
Decharme  says  in  his  "  Mythologie  de  la  Grece 
Antique,"  "  He  is  the  type  of  man  striving  against 
nature,  and,  by  dint  of  intelligence  and  skill,  suc- 
cessful in  wresting  from  her  some  of  her  secrets." 

The  subject  of  Prometheus  was  evidently  painted 
by  the  Greeks.  Achilles  Tatius,  in  his  novel,  "  Cleito- 
phon  and  Leucippe,"  in  the  fifth  century,  describes  a 
picture  representing  Prometheus  as  follows: 
"  There  was  Prometheus  chained  to  the  rock,  and 
Hercules  armed  with  bow  and  spear.  And  a  bird 
was  feeding  on  the  entrails  of  Prometheus,  for  it 
stood  rending  his  vitals  open,  open  though  they 
were  enough  already.  But  its  beak  was  plunged 
in  the  wound,  and  it  seemed  as  though  it  was  seeking 
his  liver  .  .  .  and  the  bird  dug  the  points  of  its 
talons  into  the  thigh  of  Prometheus,  so  that  he  was 


io  Classic  fl&Etbs  tn  Hrt 

all  contracted  with  pain,  and  his  body  was  all  bent, 
and  he  lifted  his  thigh  to  his  own  detriment,  for  he 
thus  drew  the  bird  closer  to  his  liver.  And  right 
down  the  other  leg  you  could  see  every  muscle 
braced  and  strained  in  grievous  pain  to  his  very 
toes.  Elsewhere,  too,  you  saw  evidences  of  his 
agony ;  his  brows  were  bent,  his  lips  contracted,  and 
he  showed  his  teeth."  We  talk  of  modern  realism; 
where  shall  we  find  a  more  realistic  picture  either 
in  graphic  art  or  in  literature?  But  the  deliverer 
was  at  hand.  Zeus  permitted  Hercules  to  slay  the 
eagle  and  thus  put  an  end  to  the  torment  of  Prome- 
theus. In  this  old  Greek  picture  Hercules  stood  aim- 
ing his  arrow  at  the  eagle,  "  his  left  hand  pressing 
out  the  bow  away  from  him,  while  his  right  he  drew 
back  to  his  breast,  pulling  the  string,  and  his  elbow 
was  bent  behind  him.  So  that  all  was  bent  alike  — 
the  bow,  the  string,  the  arrow,  and  his  hand." 

In  the  Prado  at  Madrid  there  is  a  painting  of 
Prometheus,  by  Ribera.  It  is  a  colossal  figure, 
originally  in  the  possession  of  Philip  IV.,  at  the 
Royal  Palace  at  Madrid.  We  have  reason  to  fear 
that  Philip  never  quite  appreciated  the  grim  mes- 
sage of  this  picture. 

In  the  same  gallery  is  a  Flemish  painting  by 
Cossins,  who  worked  about  1600,  representing 
Prometheus  descending  with  the  fire  which  he  has 
stolen  from  heaven,  —  the  unpardonable  sin.  There 


Ube  Hccesston  of 

is  a  picture  of  the  same  object  also  by  Soli- 
mena  in  the  Prado,  and  one  by  Guido  Reni,  less 
forceful  than  many  of  the  others. 

After  the  giants  had  all  been  disposed  of,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  their  conqueror,  Jupiter,  Neptune, 
and  Pluto,  three  brothers,  became  the  presiding 
deities  of  Earth,  Ocean,  and  Hades.  Olympus,  the 
heaven  of  the  Greek  mythology,  was  also  under  the 
dominion  of  Jupiter,  for  the  classic  mind  had  not 
aspired  to  a  heaven  which  should  be  higher  (except 
in  physical  elevation)  than  the  earth  where  mor- 
tals dwelt.  These  three  powerful  brothers  had  a 
certain  resemblance  one  to  another  in  early  art;  all 
were  represented  with  beards,  while  their  attributes 
were,  for  Jupiter,  the  thunderbolt,  for  Neptune,  the 
trident,  and  for  Pluto,  the  fork  with  two  spikes  — 
practically  the  pitchfork,  which  survived  in  medi- 
aeval conceptions  of  the  devil. 

The  children  of  Jupiter  —  Venus,  Mars,  Vulcan, 
Diana,  Minerva,  and  Apollo  —  were  the  chief  heroes 
of  Olympus.  It  will  be  our  purpose  to  examine 
first  the  myths  connected  with  Jupiter,  the  legends 
of  Neptune  and  the  sea-divinities,  and  the  gods  of 
the  Under  World,  and  afterward  to  consider  the 
myths  concerning  the  Olympian  offspring. 


CHAPTER    II. 

OLYMPUS,    OCEAN,    AND    HADES 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  birth  of  Jupiter,  —  Jove, 
Zeus  (call  him  by  which  name  you  will),  —  he  was 
given  by  his  mother  Rhea  to  the  nymphs  of  Dicta, 
who  at  once  provided  a  foster-mother  for  him  in 
the  shape  of  the  goat  Amalthea.  In  the  Capitoline 
Museum  in  Rome  is  a  series  of  reliefs  representing 
the  infancy  and  childhood  of  Zeus.  Cretan  coins, 
too,  often  show  the  young  god  suckled  by  the  goat, 
or  carried  in  the  arms  of  the  nymphs.  Between 
Vasari  and  Christofano  Gherardi,  a  series  of  frescoes 
was  executed  in  a  mansion  in  Venice,  among  which 
might  be  seen  the  infant  Jove  suckled  by  Amalthea. 
In  Munich  is  a  painting  by  Cicagni,  representing 
the  infant  Jupiter  and  the  goat  Amalthea,  enter- 
tained by  corybantes  who  play  to  him.  There  is  also 
a  picture  in  the  National  Gallery  of  London,  by 
Giulio  Romano,  dealing  with  the  infancy  of  Jupiter. 

The  Thunderer  has  always  been  represented  in 
rather  a  conventional  way,  usually  in  Greek  art 


©l^mpus,  ©cean,  anfc  ftaoes          13 

mature,  calm,  and  masterful.  He  is  always  bearded ; 
his  hair  is  drawn  up  on  his  forehead  and  parted.  It 
then  falls  again  on  each  side,  but  is  not  so  unkempt 
as  that  of  Neptune.  The  types  of  the  three  brothers, 
Jupiter,  Neptune,  and  Pluto,  are  easily  distinguished 
when  these  characteristics  of  each  are  known. 
Jupiter  is  always  credited  with  a  great  and  por- 
tentous "  nod."  The  shaking  of  his  locks  is  the 
characteristic  action  for  the  monarch  of  Olympus, 
besides  a  movement  of  the  eyebrows. 

Zeus  is  generally  seated,  draped  below  the  waist, 
his  muscular  torso  exposed  to  view.  In  most  repre- 
sentations, both  ancient  and  modern,  he  is  accom- 
panied by  the  eagle,  his  constant  emblem. 

The  picture  by  Apelles  (in  the  time  of  Alexander 
the  Great),  of  the  emperor  as  Jupiter,  must  have 
been  a  thrilling  portrayal.  Pliny  says  of  it :  "  The 
fingers  seem  to  shoot  forward,  and  the  lightning 
to  be  out  of  the  picture." 

In  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  century  B.  c.,  Phidias 
made  his  great  statue  of  Zeus,  larger  than  his 
Minerva  of  the  Parthenon.  The  figure  was  seated 
on  a  throne,  and  stood  sixty  feet  high.  It  was  of 
chryselephantine,  that  is  to  say,  of  gold  and  ivory; 
the  nude  parts  of  the  figure  being  of  ivory,  laid  on 
in  plates,  and  the  draperies  of  gold  similarly  applied. 
It  has  come  down  to  us  by  description  only.  Pau- 
sanias's  description  is  graphic  in  all  its  details.  It  is 


14  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Brt 

too  long  to  be  given  here  in  full,  but  certain  extracts 
from  the  account  may  be  quoted :  "  That  the  statue 
of  Zeus  is  the  work  of  Phidias  is  shown  by  the  in- 
scription written  at  the  base  of  it,  '  Phidias  the 
Athenian,  the  son  of  Charmides,  made  me.'  .  .  . 
The  image  of  the  god  is  of  gold  and  ivory,  seated 
on  a  throne.  And  a  crown  is  on  his  head,  imitating 
the  foliage  of  an  olive-tree.  In  his  right  hand  he 
holds  a  Victory  in  ivory  and  gold,  and  in  his  left 
hand  a  sceptre  adorned  with  all  manner  of  precious 
stones,  and  the  bird  seated  on  the  sceptre  is  an  eagle. 
The  robes  and  sandals  of  the  god  are  of  gold,  and 
on  his  robes  are  imitations  of  flowers,  especially  of 
lilies.  And  there  are  imitations  of  animals  painted 
on  it,  and  models  worked  on  it.  There  are  four 
Victories  like  dancers,  one  at  each  foot  of  the  throne, 
and  two  also  at  the  instep  of  each  foot.  ...  At  the 
top  of  the  throne  Phidias  has  represented  above  the 
head  of  Zeus  the  three  Graces  and  three  seasons. 
And  I  know  that  the  size  of  the  Olympian  Zeus,  both 
in  height  and  breadth,  has  been  stated,  but  I  cannot 
bestow  praise  upon  the  measurers,  for  their  recorded 
measurement  comes  far  short  of  what  any  one 
would  infer  looking  at  the  statue.  They  made  the 
god  also  to  have  testified  to  the  art  of  Phidias.  For 
they  say  that  when  the  statue  was  finished,  Phidias 
prayed  him  to  signify  if  the  work  was  to  his  mind, 
and  immediately  Zeus  struck  with  lightning  that  part 


,  ©cean,  anfc  fmfces          15 

of  the  pavement  where,  in  our  day,  is  a  brazen  urn 
with  a  lid."  Pausanias  tells  also  of  a  statue  of  Zeus 
in  Corinth,  made  of  brass,  by  Lysippus,  and  standing 
in  the  market-place. 

The  Jupiter  of  Raphael,  included  among  his 
"  Days,"  is  the  god  presiding  over  Thursday.  It  is 
a  magnificent  figure  of  a  mature  man,  seated  in  a 
chariot,  which  is  wrought  with  devices  of  eagles 
and  sphinxes;  it  is  drawn  by  two  eagles  on  the 
clouds.  Jove  is  bearing  a  flaming  thunderbolt, 
which  he  holds  in  a  statuesque  way,  as  if  it  were  a 
torch.  The  design  has  fine  classic  feeling,  and  is  as 
reposeful  and  as  dignified  in  its  academic  conven- 
tional reverence  as  a  genuine  work  of  a  gem-cutter 
of  Athens. 

Zeus  figuring  as  the  lord  of  Olympus  is  not  very 
common  in  art.  Scenes  from  his  numerous  loves 
have  been  usually  selected  for  artistic  purposes.  He 
was  highly  volatile  and  susceptible;  and,  as  nearly 
all  his  loves  have  been  copiously  illustrated,  this 
amorous  phase  must  be  reserved  for  a  whole  chapter. 

Neptune  figures  little  in  art.  There  are  fewer  rep- 
resentations of  him  than  of  most  of  the  chief  deities. 
He  is  depicted  as  a  less  serenely  dignified  figure 
than  Jove,  being  compelled  always  to  battle  with  the 
unruly  element,  and  with  storms.  He  is  usually 
bearded.  With  a  stroke  of  his  trident  he  is  said  to 
have  created  the  horse.  He  always  figures  in  the 


z6  Classic  /IDgtbs  in  Hrt 

Battle  of  the  Giants.  But  his  loves  also  form  the 
subject  of  most  of  the  vase-paintings  which  deal 
with  Neptune.  Amphitrite,  his  wife,  is  usually  with 
him  in  art.  He  is  a  striking  figure  as  described  by 
Homer :  "  The  god  put  upon  him  his  armour,  seized 
a  gleaming  whip,  stepped  upon  his  chariot,  and 
drove  it  over  the  wave.  Below  him  leapt  the  mon- 
sters, come  forth  in  crowds  from  their  hiding-places, 
to  recognize  their  lord.  The  sea,  overjoyed,  opened 
to  make  a  way  before  him.  His  horses  sped  on 
rapidly,  and,  as  they  passed,  the  wave  did  not  make 
wet  the  brazen  pole."  This  train  of  aquatic  follow- 
ers always  accompany  Neptune  in  art,  and  "  the 
chorus  of  the  fifty  daughters  of  Nerus  entwine  in 
the  dance,"  as  Euripides  says.  Nereids  and  Tritons, 
with  fish-tails  and  conch-shells,  upon  which  they 
blow,  as  upon  horns,  sea-horses  and  dragons,  appear 
at  the  famous  scene  of  the  marriage  of  Neptune  and 
Amphitrite,  a  favourite  subject  among  painters. 
There  is  an  antique  bas-relief  in  Munich,  a  won- 
derfully beautiful  work  of  the  school  of  Scopas, 
which  shows  this  episode.  In  1670  a  mosaic  was  dis- 
covered in  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  showing  a  repeat- 
ing ornament  of  a  Nereid,  riding  on  a  hippocampus, 
divided  conventionally  by  tridents  and  dolphins. 

Philostratus,  describing  a  Greek  picture  of  the 
marriage  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  says :  "  Al- 
ready the  wave  is  arching  for  the  nuptials;  though 


,  ©cean,  ant>  Tba&es          17 

green  still,  and  of  an  azure  hue,  yet  Neptune  is 
painting  it  purple."  This  is  the  result  of  observa- 
tion; for  in  the  Mediterranean,  when  storms  arise, 
a  certain  reddish  light  appears  in  the  distance,  caus- 
ing the  waves  to  assume  a  purplish  tone. 

Among  the  Pompeian  mosaics  in  the  Naples 
Museum  is  one  depicting  the  marriage  of  Neptune 
and  Amphitrite.  They  are  seated  on  their  triumphal 
car,  as  usual  in  treatments  of  this  subject,  and  are 
surrounded  by  the  characteristic  retainers.  Neptune 
carries  his  trident,  and  is  wrapped  in  a  mantle. 

Giovanni  da  Bologna's  Neptune  on  the  fountain 
in  Perugia  is  good,  and  in  Greek  spirit.  It  is  not 
simply  a  strong  old  man,  sitting  up  with  a  trident, 
as  many  Neptunes  of  that  period  were ;  it  has  some- 
thing of  the  sea-quality  in  it. 

In  the  courtyard  of  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice 
stand  two  statues  by  Sansovino,  which,  in  spite  of 
their  colossal  proportions,  are  insignificant.  They 
represent  Mars  and  Neptune.  They  are  elaborate, 
large,  and  unsuggestive.  They  lack  inspiration  and 
thought,  being  the  work  of  a  sculptor  who  was  not 
an  intellectual  man.  For  a  moment  they  look  rather 
imposing,  standing,  as  they  do,  at  either  side  of  the 
Scala  d'Oro,  but  they  are  really  shallow  and  unin- 
spired. 

There  are  two  crowded  pictures  of  the  triumphal 
car  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  by  Francesco 


i8  Classic  jflDvtfos  in  Brt 

Franck,  one  in  the  Uffizi  and  the  other  in  Berlin.  In 
each  case  the  car  appears  to  be  on  the  verge  of  the 
shore,  in  fact  at  the  very  head  of  a  cove,  so  that 
it  cannot  possibly  go  farther.  The  sea-god  and  his 
bride  must  be  just  about  to  alight.  Crowds  of 
Nereids,  Tritons,  and  sea-horses  (these  latter  rather 
literal)  are  all  around  them,  and  in  the  throng  may 
be  distinguished  Galatea,  while  her  unhappy  adorer, 
Polyphemus,  the  Cyclops,  languishes  on  the  shore  on 
the  left.  A  feast  is  being  served  on  the  opposite 
shore. 

Rubens  has  attempted  to  depict  a  domestic  scene 
in  his  Neptune  and  Amphitrite  in  Berlin.  The 
hoary  god  of  the  waters  sits  holding  fast  his  trident, 
while  his  wife  stands  by  him.  She  is  a  fair,  fat 
Dutchwoman,  much  like  all  Rubens's  people  with- 
out clothes.  The  couple  are  surrounded  by  pets, 
aquatic  and  otherwise ;  a  happy  family,  composed  of 
a  lion,  a  tiger,  rhinoceros,  hippopotamus,  and  an  alli- 
gator. The  latter  is  being  fondled  by  a  pale,  flabby 
sea-nymph,  who  lies  flat  upon  her  back  before  the 
divinities,  gazing  boldly  up  into  their  faces  in  a  very 
ridiculous  fashion.  She  is  apparently  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  Triton,  who  is  offering  a  large  shell  filled 
with  jewels  to  Amphitrite.  A  large  sail  is  spread 
over  the  group  as  a  shelter.  Neptune  is  a  robust 
person,  but  his  muscles  are  a  trifle  pronounced, 


,  ©cean,  ant)  tfoafces          19 

those  on  the  calves  of  his  legs  suggesting  eggs 
buried  under  the  skin. 

The  Triumph  of  Amphitrite,  by  Taraval,  in  the 
Louvre,  is  certainly  flowery  enough  to  suit  the  latest 
Renaissance  palate.  The  sea-goddess  lies  back  upon 
a  very  ornamental  dolphin,  with  her  feet  daintily 
crossed  and  her  toes  pointed,  and  her  much-made-up 
eyes  turned  languishingly  upon  the  spectator.  With 
a  trifle  more  drapery  (she  is  nude  except  for  a  filmy 
scarf  that  lies  in  her  lap)  she  might  be  suspected 
of  having  escaped  from  Marigny's  Theatre.  Airy 
Cupids  tumble  about  in  the  clouds,  and  Tritons  and 
Nereids  writhe  in  the  foreground. 

There  is  a  picture  of  Neptune  by  Tiepolo,  a  late 
Venetian  painter,  in  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice. 
He  is  in  the  act  of  offering  a  cornucopia  of  gems 
and  coins  to  Venus,  who  scornfully  points  to  them, 
evidently  refusing  to  be  so  won.  In  this  picture 
Neptune  is  rather  an  old  man,  haggard,  weary,  and 
unkempt,  with  his  hair  all  about  his  face,  and  a 
beard.  A  young  attendant  carries  his  trident  behind 
him.  Tiepolo  probably  meant  this  to  symbolize  the 
sea's  casting  its  riches  at  the  feet  of  Venice,  for 
Venus  is  dressed  in  regal  eighteenth  century  taste, 
with  a  crown  and  sceptre. 

Among  the  sea-divinities  figures  the  lovely  Gala- 
tea, a  daughter  of  Nereus,  and  a  sister  to  Amphitrite, 
Neptune's  bride.  The  myth  of  Galatea  is  on  this 


ae  Classic  HDptbs  in  Hrt 

wise.  She  loved  a  faun,  Acis,  a  sprightly,  amphibi- 
ous person,  whose  mother  was  a  Naiad ;  but  she  was 
beloved  herself  by  the  Cyclops  Polyphemus,  who 
loved,  as  Theocritus  tells  us,  "  with  fatal  frenzy." 
He  paid  her  such  attentions  as  might  have  been 
gratifying  had  he  been  fair  to  look  upon,  telling  her 
that  she  was  more  white  than  pressed  milk,  more 
delicate  than  the  lamb,  and  more  sleek  than  the  un- 
ripened  grape.  But  Galatea  knew  all  this,  and,  as 
Acis  seemed  to  be  quite  as  ready  with  compliments 
as  was  the  ugly  Cyclops,  she  naturally  preferred 
them  from  that  source.  The  poor  giant  was  pathetic 
in  his  woe: 

"  I  know,  sweet  maiden,  why  thou  art  so  coy : 
Shaggy  and   huge,   a   single   eyebrow   spans 
From  ear  to  ear  my  forehead,  whence  one  eye 
Gleams,  and  an  o'er-broad  nostril  tops  my  lip." 

Certainly  Theocritus  has  so  expressed  it  that  no 
further  explanation  was  necessary.  Hesiod  has 
described  the  Cyclops  in  equally  attractive  terms : 

"  One  eye  was  placed,  a  large  round  orb,  and  bright 
Amidst  their  forehead,  to  receive  the  light." 

So  the  Cyclops  poured  out  his  soul  in  song,  while 
within  was  rankling  the  pain  of  unrequited  devotion. 
Finally,  one  day,  when  he  was  wandering  in  the 
woods,  he  came  upon  Acis  and  Galatea  in  a  hollow 


RAPHAEL.  — TRIUMPH    OF    GALATEA. 


,  ©cean,  an&  tmfces          21 

rock  or  cave,  where  they  had  been  listening  to  his 
singing.  Infuriated,  he  dashed  a  huge  stone  at 
Acis,  killing  his  rival.  But  he  derived  no  further 
benefit  from  his  jealous  rage  than  the  death  of  the 
faun,  for  Galatea  was  quite  inconsolable  at  the  loss 
of  her  lover,  and  never  could  be  brought  to  look  upon 
Polyphemus  as  other  than  a  monster. 

In  the  House  of  Livia,  on  the  Palatine  hill,  is  a 
fresco,  showing  Galatea  laughing,  riding  on  a  hippo- 
campus, or  sea-horse. 

The  loveliest  Galatea  in  art  is  Raphael's,  in  the 
Farnesina  Palace  in  Rome.  It  has  wonderful  appre- 
hension of  the  perennial  joy  of  the  Greeks.  Galatea 
is  seen  riding  in  her  shell,  drawn  by  dolphins,  the 
breeze  in  her  draperies,  and  her  head  turned  with  a 
charming  grace  toward  the  light.  She  is  surrounded 
by  water-nymphs,  Tritons,  and  Cupids,  and,  on  the 
shore,  a  centaur,  with  a  sea-nymph  riding  upon  his 
back.  Nothing  could  be  more  suggestive  of  the 
dashing  waves  and  briny  foam  than  this  glowing 
picture.  Cupids  in  the  air  all  aim  their  arrows  at 
Galatea;  no  doubt  Acis  is  somewhere  about.  The 
Galatea  is  full  of  original  touches.  The  sea-divini- 
ties are  of  rather  individual  forms,  and  the  nymph, 
who  is  caught  by  the  Triton,  is  charmingly  coquet- 
tish. The  Triton  himself  has  a  Roman  nose;  it  was 
a  good  bit  of  local  colour  for  Raphael  to  introduce 
this  type.  Taine  alludes  to  this  Triton  as  clutching 


aa  Classic  /lD\?tbs  in  Brt 

and  enfolding  the  nymph  in  his  "  nervous  arms," 
saying  that  he  "  displays  the  alertness  and  spirit  of 
an  animal  god,  inhaling  with  the  soft  air  of  the  sea 
huge  drafts  of  force  and  contentment."  The  curve 
of  the  figure  of  the  blond  nymph,  carried  off  on  the 
back  of  a  god,  is  also  most  alluring.  Winckelmann, 
in  his  "  History  of  Ancient  Art,"  criticizes  Raphael's 
Galatea,  saying,  "  The  figure  is  so  disposed  that  the 
breast,  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  naked  female 
form,  is  completely  covered  by  one  arm,  and  the  knee 
which  is  in  view  is  much  too  cartilaginous  for  a  per- 
son of  youthful  age,  to  say  nothing  of  a  divine 
nymph."  He  also  says  that  the  conception  of  the 
head  of  Galatea  is  too  common,  —  that  it  is  not  as 
beautiful  a  type  as  Raphael  might  have  found.  Ra- 
phael's own  letter  to  Balthassar  Castiglione  may  be 
quoted  in  this  connection :  "  With  regard  to  the 
Galatea,  I  should  consider  myself  a  great  master,  if 
it  possessed  but  half  the  merits  of  which  your  lord- 
ship speaks  in  your  letter.  But  I  attribute  your 
praises  to  the  love  you  bear  me.  To  paint  a  beautiful 
woman,  I  need  to  have  numerous  models  before  me, 
and  your  lordship  at  hand  to  aid  me  with  your 
judgment ;  but  having  here  so  few  beautiful  models, 
and  such  a  scarcity  of  good  judges,  I  work  upon  a 
certain  idea  that  presents  itself  to  my  mind.  Whether 
this  idea  has  any  artistic  excellence,  I  know  not;  but 
I  do  my  best  to  attain  it." 


©l^mpus,  ©cean,  anb  Ibabes          23 

Carlo  Maratta  has  painted  the  Triumph  of  Gala- 
tea, which  hangs  in  St.  Petersburg.  The  nymph, 
entirely  nude,  sits  in  a  shell-shaped  car,  holding  in 
one  hand  the  reins,  with  which  she  guides  the  dol- 
phins, while  two  nymphs  are  seated  at  her  feet.  A 
third,  walking  on  the  waves,  holds  a  red  drapery, 
which  floats  beyond  Galatea.  Before  the  car  a  Triton 
is  sounding  his  horn,  and  at  the  side  a  little  Cupid 
rides  a  dolphin.  Farther  away  one  descries  a  little 
boat,  and,  in  the  heavens,  Cupid  preparing  to  dis- 
charge an  arrow  from  his  bow.  Polyphemus  is 
seen  reclining  on  the  bank,  playing  upon  his  pipes. 

Giulio  Romano  has  painted  Polyphemus  in  the 
Palazzo  del  Te  in  Mantua;  the  fresco  shows  a 
hulking  fellow,  with  muscles  like  those  of  Michel- 
angelo's personages  on  the  Sistine  ceiling,  holding 
in  one  hand  the  pan-pipes,  on  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  play.  He  is  represented  in  this  case  as  a 
Cyclops  only  in  that  a  third  eye  appears  in  his 
forehead ;  the  classic  idea  of  the  single  eye  occupying 
the  whole  space  below  the  brow  seems  to  have  been 
too  great  a  tax  upon  the  Renaissance  imagination. 
Acis  and  Galatea  are  seen  sporting  in  the  waves  just 
beyond  his  reach. 

Claude  Lorraine's  Acis  and  Galatea  in  Dresden  is 
primarily  a  well-composed  view  of  seashore.  A 
rocky  promontory  juts  far  out  on  the  right,  while 
on  the  left  the  open  sea  is  seen,  carrying  the  eye  to 


24  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

the  horizon  line,  which  is  filled  with  golden  light. 
Some  tall  trees  on  the  extreme  left  balance  the  com- 
position. The  foreground  exhibits  the  sandy  shore, 
and  in  the  centre  Acis  and  Galatea  have  put  up  a 
little  rude  tent,  and  are  enjoying  each  other's  em- 
braces beneath  this  shelter.  On  the  promontory  is 
Polyphemus  with  his  flocks,  —  far  away,  and  not 
suspecting  their  retreat,  which  is  revealed  to  the 
spectator  alone.  At  the  left,  in  the  shallow  water, 
seen  through  a  vista  of  trees,  are  some  water-nymphs 
sporting.  Just  outside  the  tent,  Cupid,  as  an  infant, 
is  "  playing  horse  "  with  two  doves  which  he  holds 
in  leash.  The  lights  in  this  picture  render  it  a  peace- 
fully pleasing  landscape,  aside  from  the  subject 
treated,  which  occupies  only  a  small  space  in  the 
whole  scene. 

In  one  of  Caracci's  frescoes  Galatea  is  seen  com- 
ing to  listen  to  the  music  of  Polyphemus.  The  giant 
is  sitting  on  a  rock  at  the  left,  piping  vigorously, 
while  the  sea-divinity,  supported  by  two  nymphs, 
in  a  shell  drawn  by  the  customary  dolphins,  is  giving 
attention  to  the  sounds.  The  heads  of  the  three 
women  are  of  extremely  differing  types,  and  are 
very  lovely.  Another  of  these  frescoes  shows  Poly- 
phemus hurling  a  rock  after  Acis,  who,  with  Galatea, 
is  fleeing  from  the  wrath  of  the  Cyclops. 

A  less  popular  subject  among  artists  is:  — 


t  ©cean,  anfc  Ibafces          25 

"  Pluto  hard  of  heart,  whose  wide  command 
Is  o'er  a  dark  and  subterranean  land." 

He  is  represented  much  like  Jupiter  and  Neptune, 
but  his  hair  and  beard  are  generally  shorter  and 
more  bristling,  and  his  pitchfork  distinguishes  him 
from  them  at  a  glance. 

In  the  Villa  Borghese  is  a  statue  of  Pluto  en- 
throned; the  King  of  Darkness  is  seated,  with 
Cerberus,  the  three-headed  dog,  which  guarded  his 
domain,  at  his  side.  Hesiod  draws  a  graphic  picture 
of  this  dread  watch-dog  of  the  nether  world : 

"  A  horrid  dog  and  grim  couched  on  the  floor, 
Guards  with  malicious  art,  the  sounding  door. 
On  each  who  in  the  entrance  first  appears, 
He,  fawning,  wags  his  tail,  and  cocks  his  ears; 
If  any  strive  to  measure  back  the  way 
Their  steps  he  watches,  and  devours  his  prey." 

In  the  case  of  the  Borghese  statue,  the  three  heads 
of  Cerberus  are  not  elaborated.  Pluto  holds  a  staff, 
which  may  originally  have  had  a  forked  extremity. 

Indeed,  if  he  had  not  carried  off  Proserpine  to 
be  his  bride,  it  seems  doubtful  if  Pluto  would  have 
appeared  in  art  at  all.  The  reason  for  Pluto's  sudden 
passion  for  Proserpine  is  thus  explained  by  Ovid. 
On  Mount  Olympus  Venus  was  seated  with  Cupid, 
when  they  descried  Pluto  wandering  in  the  upper 
regions  of  earth.  "  Embracing  her  winged  son,  siie 


26  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Brt 

said,  '  Cupid,  my  son,  my  arms,  my  hands,  and  my 
might,  take  up  those  darts  by  which  thou  conquerest 
all  and  direct  the  swift  arrows  against  the  breast  of 
the  god  to  whom  fell  the  last  lot  of  the  triple  king- 
dom.' .  .  .  Venus  thus  spoke.  He  opened  his  quiver, 
and,  by  the  direction  of  his  mother,  set  apart  one 
dart  out  of  his  thousand  arrows:  ...  he  bent  the 
flexible  horn,  by  pressing  his  knee  against  it,  and 
struck  Pluto  in  the  breast  with  his  barbed  arrow." 

The  Homeric  Hymn  to  Demeter  (Ceres)  gives  us 
the  scene  briefly :  Proserpine,  "  plucking  the  rose 
and  the  crocus,  fair  violets,  the  iris,  and  the  hyacinth 
flower,"  is  seized  by  Pluto,  "  who,  in  spite  of  her 
struggles,  caught  her  up  into  his  golden  chariot  and 
bore  her  off,  though  she  lamented  and  called  with 
loud  cries  upon  her  father."  Ovid  amplifies  this 
account,  adding,  "  The  goddess,  affrighted,  with 
lamenting  lips  calls  both  her  mother  and  her  com- 
panions, but  more  frequently  her  mother ;  and  as  she 
has  torn  her  garment  from  the  upper  edge,  the  col- 
lected flowers  fall  from  her  loosened  robes.  So 
great,  too,  is  the  innocence  of  her  childish  years,  this 
loss  excites  the  maiden's  grief  as  well.  The  ravisher 
drives  on  his  chariot,  and  encourages  his  horses 
...  he  is  borne  through  deep  lakes,  and  the  pools, 
smelling  of  sulphur,  and  boiling  fresh  from  out  of 
the  burnt  earth." 

Of  Bernini's  group  of  Pluto  and  Proserpine  in 


,  ©cean,  a^  Dafces         27 

Rome,  Taine  speaks  thus :  "  The  head  of  Pluto  is 
vulgarly  gay ;  his  crown  and  beard  give  him  a  ridicu- 
lous air,  while  the  muscles  are  strongly  marked,  and 
the  figure  poses.  It  is  not  a  true  divinity,  but  a 
decorative  god,  like  those  at  Versailles ;  a  mythologi- 
cal figurante,  striving  to  catch  the  attention  of  con- 
noisseurs and  the  king.  Proserpine's  body  is  very 
effeminate,  very  pretty,  and  very  contorted;  but 
there  is  too  much  expression  in  the  face,  its  eyes, 
its  tears,  and  its  little  mouth,  are  too  attractive." 

In  Orvieto,  Signorelli  painted  two  scenes  from  the 
story  of  Proserpine  in  medallions.  Symonds  points 
out  how  curiously  mediaeval  feeling  is  here  mixed 
with  the  choice  of  classic  representation.  "  Pluto," 
he  says,  "  drives  his  jarring  car-wheels  up  through 
the  lava-blocks  of  ^tna  with  a  fury  and  vehemence 
we  seek  in  vain  upon  antique  sarcophagi.  Ceres, 
wandering  through  Sicily,  in  search  of  her  daughter, 
is  a  gaunt  witch  with  dishevelled  hair,  raising  frantic 
hands  to  tear  her  cheeks ;  while  the  snakes  that  draw 
her  chariot  are  no  grave  symbols  of  the  germinating 
corn,  but  greedy  serpents,  ready  to  spit  fire  against 
the  ravishers  of  Proserpine.  .  .  .  The  most  thrilling 
moments  in  the  legend  are  selected  for  dramatic  treat- 
ment, grace  and  beauty  being  exchanged  for  vivid 
presentation."  This  is  the  key-note  to  the  difference 
between  Greek  art  and  mediaeval  art.  Henri  Beyle, 
in  his  "  Histoire  de  la  Peinture  en  Italic,"  remarks 


28  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

that  "  Greek  sculpture  was  unwilling  to  reproduce 
the  terrible  in  any  shape;  the  Greeks  had  enough 
real  troubles  of  their  own." 

Rubens  has  painted  Pluto  and  Proserpine  con- 
ducted by  Cupid  to  the  chariot.  The  picture  is  in  the 
Prado. 

Of  Turner's  Rape  of  Proserpine,  Ruskin  says: 
"  In  this  picture  the  nature  is  not  the  grand  nature 
of  all  time;  it  is  indubitably  modern;  and  we  are 
perfectly  electrified  at  anybody's  being  carried  away 
in  the  corner  except  by  people  with  spiky  hats  and 
carabines.  This  is  traceable  to  several  causes ;  partly 
to  the  want  of  any  grand  specific  form,  partly  to  the 
too-evident  middle-age  character  of  the  ruins  crown- 
ing the  hills." 

In  the  Dresden  Gallery  is  a  picture  by  Heinz  of 
Proserpine,  and  in  the  Prado,  one  by  Breughel  the 
Younger. 

The  Pluto  and  Proserpine  by  Rembrandt  in  Berlin 
is  as  absurd  a  presentment  of  the  subject  as  could  be 
conceived.  Pluto,  a  courtier,  with  long  love-locks 
and  a  moustache,  is  carrying  away  a  bald-foreheaded 
Dutch  lady,  in  elaborate  brocade  clothes.  Other 
women  are  doing  their  best  to  detain  the  elopement, 
by  dragging  behind  the  car. 

There  is  an  ancient  relief  which  shows  the  abduc- 
tion of  Proserpine  in  fine  detail.  Pluto,  in  his  four- 
horsed  chariot,  is  bearing  off  the  maiden,  while 


,  ©cean,  an&  tmfces         29 

Ceres  makes  a  "  close  third  "  behind.  Venus,  before 
the  car,  urges  the  steeds  on,  while  Cupid  has  sprung 
to  the  front,  and  is  holding  the  reins.  Evidently 
they  are  at  the  very  gates  of  Hades,  for  the  three 
heads  of  Cerberus  are  seen  fitted  into  the  space  below 
the  horses'  heels,  while  Neptune,  Amphitrite,  Mer- 
cury, Minerva,  all  crowd  about  apparently  interested 
in  the  occurrence.  Proserpine  is  bent  literally  double 
in  her  attempts  to  escape,  and  looks  like  pictures  of 
Oriental  dancers  and  acrobats. 

In  the  Brera  in  Milan  there  is  a  picture  by  Albano 
entitled  Dance  of  Little  Loves.  To  be  sure,  the 
central  theme  is  a  wreath  of  Cupids  dancing  around 
a  tree,  while  a  little  Cupid  orchestra  sits  above  in  the 
branches,  playing  upon  pipe,  viol,  and  tambour. 
But  in  the  landscape  at  the  left  may  be  seen  Pluto  in 
his  car,  dragging  away  the  fated  Proserpine,  just 
dashing  into  a  lake,  with  Ceres  quite  denuded,  cling- 
ing on  behind  the  chariot  in  the  water.  In  the  sky 
on  the  right  Cupid  is  seen  confiding  to  Venus  how  he 
has  shot  an  arrow  at  Pluto  with  great  success. 

A  spirited  picture  of  this  scene  is  a  modern  paint- 
ing by  Schobolt.  The  infernal  car  occupies  the 
whole  composition;  Pluto,  holding  Proserpine, 
struggling  vainly  to  free  herself,  looks  off  fiercely 
into  space,  while  the  two  fiery  steeds,  foaming  and 
rearing,  are  conducted  by  two  runners  who  hold 
their  bridles.  One  of  these  carries  the  fork  of  Pluto. 


3°  Classic  flD£tbs  in  Hrt 

The  car  is  evidently  just  about  to  enter  the  dark  pit, 
which  yawns  in  the  foreground.  Flames  are 
emitted  from  below.  Proserpine  hides  her  eyes  as 
she  beholds  them. 

In  Munich  is  a  painting-  by  Honthorst  representing 
Ceres,  the  mother  of  Proserpine,  who,  while  journey- 
ing over  the  world  in  search  of  her  daughter,  stopped 
in  a  peasant's  hut  to  ask  for  drink  to  renew  her 
strength.  This  picture  illustrates  the  legend  as  told 
by  Ovid.  "  By  chance  she  beholds  a  cottage  covered 
with  thatch,  and  knocks  at  its  humble  door,  upon 
which  an  old  woman  comes  out  and  sees  the  goddess, 
and  gives  her,  asking  for  water,  a  sweet  drink.  .  .  . 
While  she  is  drinking  it  ...  a  boy  of  impudent 
countenance  and  bold  stands  before  the  goddess,  and 
laughs,  and  calls  her  greedy."  Ceres,  with  truly 
Olympian  wrath,  instantly  sprinkles  the  boy,  who 
undergoes  a  strange  transformation.  "  His  face  con- 
tracts the  stains,  and  he  bears  legs  where  he  was 
bearing  arms;  a  tail  is  added  to  his  changed  limbs, 
and  he  is  contracted  into  a  diminutive  form.  .  .  . 
His  size  is  less  than  that  of  a  small  lizard."  This 
metamorphosis  of  a  boy  into  a  newt  seems  a  severe 
return  for  the  hospitality  of  his  mother;  but  no 
doubt  the  boy  needed  the  lesson. 

A  fine  early  wall-painting  of  Ceres,  the  goddess  of 
Plenty,  shows  her  modestly  draped,  and  bearing  in 
one  hand  a  basket  of  fruits,  while  in  the  other  she 


,  ©cean,  anO  fmfces          31 

carries  a  graceful  torch  with  a  pagoda-like  top,  being 
formed  in  three  tiers  of  wide-spreading  leaves  like  a 
lotus-flower.  Her  hair  is  tied  at  the  sides  with 
bunches  of  wheat,  and  she  has  a  nimbus  behind  her 
head.  A  modern  painting  by  F.  D.  Millet  represents 
Ceres  much  the  same  as  in  the  ancient  picture,  but 
she  is  slighter  and  more  girlish,  hardly  suggesting 
the  mother  of  Proserpine.  In  one  hand  she  carries  a 
slim  sheaf  of  wheat,  hardly  more  than  a  dozen 
straws,  simply  as  an  emblem.  The  staff  with  the 
three  tiers  has  a  little  fire  at  the  top,  from  which 
smoke  proceeds. 

There  is  a  massive  half-hewn  bust  of  Ceres  in 
marble  by  A.  Rodin,  in  the  Boston  Art  Museum. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   LOVES   OF   ZEUS 

JUPITER,  although  known  as  the  "  Thunderer," 
is  quite  as  famous  for  the  number  and  variety  of 
his  loves  as  for  the  manifestations  of  his  power  and 
vengeance.  How  very  human  is  this  volatile  deity, 
who  is  obliged  to  assume  new  disguises  every 
time  he  goes  a-wooing  in  order  to  escape  the  vigi- 
lant observation  of  his  wife !  The  situation  appealed 
to  the  sense  of  humour  of  even  the  Greeks  them- 
selves, and,  in  spite  of  their  veneration  and  awe,  they 
have  occasionally  burlesqued  these  amorous  affairs 
in  their  vase-paintings  and  even  in  some  of  their 
comedies. 

Juno  or  Hera  is  not  popular  in  modern  art,  for 
her  life  was  not  a  dramatic  one;  as  a  divinity  of 
dignity,  typifying  matrimony,  she  was  much  revered 
by  the  Greeks,  and  many  statues  of  her  are  extant. 
The  Barberini  Juno  in  Rome  is  a  noble  work.  "  On 
her  head,"  say  Pausanias,  "  she  wears  a  Stephanos, 
decorated  with  figures  of  the  Horae  and  the  Chari- 

3* 


Ube  %o\>es  ot  Zeus  33 

tes;  in  one  hand  holds  a  pomegranate,  and  in  the 
other  a  sceptre."  Pausanias  continues,  drily,  "  But 
as  to  the  cuckoo  which  sits  on  the  sceptre,  they  say 
that  Zeus,  when  he  was  enamoured  of  Hera,  while 
still  a  maid,  changed  himself  into  that  bird,  and 
that  Hera  chased  the  supposed  cuckoo  in  sport. 
This  tradition  and  similar  ones  about  the  gods,"  adds 
Pausanias,  discreetly,  "  I  do  not  record  because  I 
believe  them,  but  I  record  them  just  the  same."  It 
is  delightful  to  read  the  ingenuous  accounts  of  the 
Greek  author  Pausanias,  —  a  modern  in  apprecia- 
tion, who,  while  possessing  as  much  zest  for  fact 
as  a  reporter,  held  to  the  theology  of  the  classic 
pagan.  Writing  in  the  second  century  of  our  era, 
he  tells  us  that,  "  in  the  Celtic  territory  "  Apollo 
changed  a  certain  king,  at  his  own  request,  into  a 
swan  after  his  death.  "  I  daresay  a  musical  man 
reigned,"  says  Pausanias,  "  but  I  can  hardly  believe 
that  a  man  became  a  bird."  Heretic!  He  will  be- 
lieve in  no  foreign  testimony  as  to  miracles ;  yet  we 
wonder  whether  even  he  questioned  the  myth  of 
Leda?  Pausanias,  however,  did  not  accept  all  of 
what  he  considered  the  superstitious  dogma  of  his 
religion.  For  instance,  alluding  to  an  attack  upon 
an  effigy  of  Venus,  he  remarked,  "  It  would  have 
been  altogether  childish  to  make  a  small  figure  of 
cedar-wood  and  call  it  Aphrodite,  and  then  think, 
in  punishing  it,  one  was  punishing  the  goddess." 


34  Classic  /iDvtbs  in  Hrt 

Yet  Pausanias  was  credulous  withal.  In  one  place 
he  comments  calmly  upon  the  fact  that  a  dragon  was 
seen  "  running  eagerly  into  its  hole." 

Apparently  Jupiter  enjoyed  transforming  him- 
self when  making  love,  for  in  courting  his  future 
wife  it  would  otherwise  hardly  appear  necessary 
for  him  to  have  indulged  in  the  metamorphosis  re- 
corded by  Pausanias. 

Of  Juno,  one  of  the  most  typical  representations 
in  ancient  art  is  the  head  known  as  the  Ludovisi 
Juno;  the  large  eyes  and  imperious  mouth,  and  the 
lofty  diadem  above  the  brows,  are  usual  in  Greek 
statues  of  the  goddess.  Juno  is  sometimes  accom- 
panied by  a  peacock  and  sometimes  by  a  serpent. 
There  is  a  fine  early  fresco  in  the  Naples  museum 
portraying  the  wedding  of  Jupiter  and  Juno.  It  was 
found  in  the  house  of  the  Tragic  Poet  in  Pompeii. 
It  is  boldly  executed. 

Lorenzo  Lotto  has  painted  a  Triumph  of  Juno 
over  Venus,  in  the  Casino  Rospigliosi.  Juno  bran- 
dishes a  broken  bow  over  the  head  of  the  cowering 
Venus,  who,  with  jewelled  head-dress,  is  crouching 
with  Cupid  in  terror. 

The  Jupiter  and  Juno  by  Caracci  in  the  Farnese 
Palace  in  Rome  is  dignified  in  drawing  and  feeling. 
The  Thunderer  has  cast  aside  his  bolts,  which  lie 
harmless  upon  the  floor,  while  he  turns  lovingly  to 
his  wife,  who  is  partly  draped,  standing  by  the  couch, 


Ube  Xo\>es  of  Zeus  35 

leaning  upon  its  edge  with  one  knee.  She  is  a  fair 
matron,  of  firm  classic  mould,  handsome  and  grace- 
ful. Jove  is  represented  in  his  softer  aspect  as  a 
wooer;  this  is  one  of  the  few  pictures  of  Jupiter 
as  a  lover  when  he  is  not  under  some  disguise.  The 
head  is  that  of  the  Otricoli  bust. 

Jupiter's  infatuation  for  the  fair  Leda  is  a  subject 
constantly  portrayed  by  the  Renaissance  painters. 
The  whimsical  deity,  this  time  disguising  himself  as 
a  swan,  made  love  to  a  mortal  maiden. 

The  most  beautiful  picture  of  Leda  and  the  Swan 
is  in  the  Uffizi,  and  is  by  Tintoretto.  The  scene  is 
rather  unreal,  for  Jupiter,  in  the  guise  of  a  white 
bird,  seems  to  have  penetrated  into  the  lady's  cham- 
ber, like  "  Goosey,  Goosey,  Gander,"  in  the  nursery 
rhyme.  In  this  particular,  the  other  representations 
of  the  same  subject,  which  in  nearly  all  cases  are  in 
an  outdoor  setting,  are  better  chosen.  But  for  a 
work  of  art  —  for  a  study  of  the  nude  in  that  beauti- 
ful chaste  spirit  of  Tintoret,  and  for  colour  and  form 
and  composition  —  none  of  the  others  are  as  lovely 
as  this.  At  the  right,  Leda  is  reclining  on  a  couch. 
The  swan,  on  the  floor  at  her  feet,  is  curving  its 
graceful  neck  up  toward  the  girl,  who  turns  slightly 
to  caress  her  strange  adorer.  A  servant,  at  the  left, 
is  opening  a  cage,  in  which  is  seen  a  duck.  Another 
small  cage  on  the  wall,  with  some  sort  of  bird,  sug- 
gests that  possibly  the  scene  may  be  supposed  to  be 


36  Classic  dD^tbs  in  art 

in  a  bird-fancier's  establishment;  it  is  not  possible 
to  know  just  what  the  Venetian  had  in  mind  when  he 
painted  his  incomparable  Leda.  Of  the  central 
figure  there  can  be  but  one  opinion.  She  is  as  fair, 
as  slender,  and  yet  as  voluptuously  perfect  as  any  of 
the  rather  majestic  creations  of  Tintoretto.  The 
head  is  Venetian,  and,  indeed,  there  is  little  classic 
feeling  in  any  part  of  the  composition. 

A  more  realistic  view  of  this  scene  is  by  Correg- 
gio,  and  is  in  Berlin.  In  a  pretty,  soft  landscape, 
with  thick  trees,  and  amid  little  purling  streams,  a 
party  of  nymphs  are  bathing.  A  flock  of  wild  swans 
have  alighted  among  them.  One  swan  is  the  dis- 
guised lord  of  Olympus.  He  makes  his  way  to  Leda, 
who,  in  the  centre  of  the  picture,  receives  him, 
rather  amused,  and  a  good  deal  surprised.  Another 
swan  is  attacking  a  nymph  at  the  right.  She  is  de- 
fending herself;  while  in  the  air  above  a  swan  is 
seen  flying  away.  Possibly  this  may  be  intended 
as  three  scenes  in  the  same  myth;  Leda  startled  by 
the  appearance  of  the  bird,  Leda  accepting  the  love 
of  Jupiter,  and,  finally,  the  flight  of  the  god.  But 
the  arrangement  and  general  appearance  of  the  pic- 
ture leads  one  to  think  that  it  was  intended  for  a 
single  scene.  In  the  centre,  farther  back,  one  of  the 
nymphs  is  replacing  her  garments,  and  at  the  left, 
on  the  river  bank,  sits  Cupid,  playing  upon  a  small 
harp,  while  other  loves  are  disporting  themselves 


Ube  Xoves  of  ^eus  37 

in  the  water,  blowing  on  reeds  to  accompany  the  pas- 
toral music  of  Eros.  The  whole  picture  is  full  of 
the  cheerful  inconsequent  paganism  of  Correggio. 
Correggio  has  been  called  the  Ariel  of  the  Renais- 
sance. Symonds  says :  "  We  are  compelled  to  think 
of  him  as  an  elemental  spirit,  whose  bidding  the  air 
and  the  light  and  the  hues  of  the  morning  obey." 
Even  when  he  paints  the  Fates  they  appear  as 
light-hearted  nymphs.  He  is  joyous  and  gleeful 
in  all  his  representations  of  human  life. 

In  the  Borghese  Gallery  in  Rome  is  that  picture 
which  Morelli  calls  "  The  Magnificent  Leda,"  which 
has  been  long  ascribed  to  Da  Vinci,  but  is  now  pro- 
nounced to  be  the  work  of  Sodoma.  The  whole 
arrangement  is  a  little  academic;  but  the  face  of 
Leda  is  certainly  of  Leonardo's  type,  with  its  deeply 
dimpled  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  the  smooth  brow 
with  parted  hair.  Leda  is  standing,  turning  to 
caress  the  swan  at  her  side.  One  wing  of  the  bird 
is  extended  and  wrapped  about  her  in  such  a  way 
that  the  edge  of  the  wing  exactly  corresponds  in 
contour  to  the  line  of  her  hip  and  thigh,  making  a 
rather  artificial  but  graceful  line.  The  landscape 
background  is  much  in  the  spirit  of  Da  Vinci ;  this 
is  by  way  of  a  domestic  scene,  for  Castor  and  Pollux, 
the  twin  sons  of  Jupiter  and  Leda,  play  at  the  feet 
of  their  mother,  while,  at  a  little  distance,  is  seen  the 
egg  from  which  they  emerged.  Morelli  says  :  "  The 


38  Classic  flDgtbs  tn  Brt 

composition  of  this  fine  painting  certainly  carries 
out  the  principles  of  Leonardo,  but  is  conceived 
entirely  in  the  spirit  of  Sodoma."  The  details  are 
springlike  and  charming,  —  a  thrush,  a  snail,  and 
a  dove  are  seen.  Morelli  considers  the  child  nearest 
Leda  very  Raphaelesque.  There  are  two  drawings 
by  Sodoma  for  pictures  of  Leda,  quite  different  from 
this,  one  in  Weimar,  and  one  at  Chatsworth.  In 
both  cases  Leda  kneels,  and  the  swan  is  by  her  side. 
Sodoma's  drawing  for  the  Leda  of  the  Borghese 
is  at  Windsor. 

Technically,  Paul  Veronese's  Leda  in  Dresden 
is  a  beautiful  bit  of  painting.  It  is  boldly  handled, 
and  is  full  of  rich  beauty  as  a  treatment  of  the  nude 
form ;  but  the  woman  is  too  mature,  too  heavy,  and 
the  subject  is  not  pleasingly  managed.  It  is  a  Vene- 
tian woman,  decked  with  jewels,  and  not  a  simple 
pastoral  maiden,  to  whom  the  swan  is  offering  his 
devotion. 

One  of  the  most  delicate  and  beautiful  paintings 
of  this  subject  is  by  a  modern  painter,  Courtat,  and 
is  in  the  Luxemburg.  On  the  river  shore  are 
stretched  out  the  two  soft  white  bodies,  reminding 
one  of  the  simile  used  by  Edmund  Spenser  in  his 
Prothalamiion,  speaking  of  some  white  swans: 

"Nor  Jove  himself  when  he  a  swan  would  be 
For  love  of  Leda,  whiter  did  appear; 
Yet  Leda  was,  they  say,  as  white  as  he." 


Xoves  of  £eus  39 

While  Michelangelo  was  working  on  the  fortifica- 
tions of  Ferrara,  he  employed  part  of  his  time  in 
painting  a  picture  of  Jupiter  and  Leda  by  way  of  a 
more  peaceful  task.  Owing  to  some  misunderstand- 
ing, the  Duke  of  Ferrara  never  purchased  this  pic- 
ture, which  was  sent  to  France,  where  it  became  the 
property  of  Francis  L,  who,  no  doubt,  appreciated 
all  its  points.  It  was  executed  in  Tempera,  about 
1529.  For  some  time  it  was  at  Fontainebleau,  but 
has  since  disappeared,  and  was  evidently  destroyed. 
A  cartoon  of  it  might  have  been  seen  in  Florence 
in  1584. 

Michelangelo's  Leda  in  Dresden  is  muscular,  full 
of  a  certain  kind  of  beauty,  but  coarse  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  and  the  question  may  be  raised 
whether,  except  as  a  technical  success,  it  should  be 
placed  on  exhibition.  Taine  speaks  of  it  as  "  tragic." 

The  myth  of  Danae  relates  to  one  of  the  many 
love-adventures  of  Jove,  whose  idea  of  right  seems 
to  have  been  "  might,"  and  who  was  esteemed  for 
the  number  of  his  conquests  in  the  field  of  gallantry. 

Danae,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  King  Acrisius 
of  Argos,  laboured  under  the  disadvantage  of  being 
the  subject  of  a  prophecy,  which  predicted  that  her 
son  should  kill  his  grandfather.  The  far-seeing 
King  Acrisius,  discerning  that  discretion  was  the 
better  part  of  valour,  especially  when  dealing  with 
the  utterances  of  infallible  sibyls,  decided  that  the 


4o  Classic  flDptbs  in  art 

best  way  to  prevent  the  prophesied  catastrophe  was 
to  shut  his  daughter  up  securely  in  a  tall  tower  made 
of  brass,  so  that  no  question  of  matrimony  might 
arise,  and  the  dreaded  son  never  arrive  upon  the 
scene.  But  he  had  not  reckoned  with  the  powers  of 
Olympus.  As  soon  as  Jupiter  realized  that  Danae 
was  inaccessible,  he  became  enamoured  of  her.  All 
things  being  possible  with  him,  he  decided  to  enter 
her  apartment  in  the  shape  of  a  golden  rain.  This 
being  quite  easy  for  Jove,  and  apparently  quite  ac- 
ceptable to  the  lady,  who  must  have  been  much 
bored  with  solitude,  Jupiter  visited  her  through 
the  window  of  the  tower.  Her  son  was  the  far- 
famed  Perseus. 

There  are  three  notable  pictures  by  Titian  of  the 
wooing  of  Danae  by  the  golden  shower.  The  finest, 
in  modelling,  chiaroscuro,  and  atmosphere,  is  that 
in  the  Imperial  Gallery  at  Vienna.  Danae  lies  care- 
lessly back  upon  a  couch  with  a  rich  canopy  and 
brocade  draperies,  although,  judging  from  the  land- 
scape background,  she  is  quite  out-of-doors.  The 
lines  of  her  body  are  exquisitely  graceful,  in  beauti- 
ful proportion,  she  being  slender  and  willowy,  with 
no  suggestion  of  thinness.  Her  face  is  beautiful, 
her  eyes  being  turned  toward  the  golden  rain,  which, 
in  the  rather  too  realistic  form  of  "  current  coin," 
is  descending  in  profusion  from  a  rent  in  the  clouds, 
through  which  the  face  of  Jove  may  be  seen.  By 


Ube  Stoves  of  Zeus  41 

her  side  is  a  crone,  who,  charmed  by  such  a  rare 
opportunity,  raises  a  metal  basin  to  intercept  the 
shower.  There  is  a  note  of  bathos  in  this,  —  it  is 
so  extremely  like  an  alms-basin  being  rapidly  filled 
by  a  special  Providence.  The  picture  of  Danae,  by 
Titian,  in  the  Hermitage  in  St.  Petersburg,  is  very 
similar  to  that  at  Vienna,  but  the  form  of  Danae 
is  less  lithe,  the  limbs  heavier  and  softer,  and  the 
lights  and  shades  less  well  managed.  The  old 
woman,  in  this  instance,  sits  on  the  further  edge 
of  the  couch,  and  raises  a  cloth  instead  of  a  basin. 
The  face  of  Danae  is  unintelligent.  In  Naples  is 
another  Danae  by  Titian,  similar  to  these.  She  lies 
on  a  much-tumbled  bed  of  ample  build,  with  a  con- 
ventional bolster  and  pillow.  Her  face  wears  an 
affected  smirk,  and  her  whole  figure  lacks  vitality. 
Instead  of  an  old  crone,  a  mannered  little  Cupid, 
with  one  protesting  hand  raised,  is  trotting  across 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  apparently  anxious  to  escape. 
The  alarming  manifestation  of  zigzag  lightning, 
which  accompanies  the  golden  shower,  seems  to 
have  no  effect  upon  the  equanimity  of  the  nymph. 
In  each  case,  the  golden  rain  takes  the  form  of 
money.  The  mystical  element  of  the  legend  was  less 
marked  in  the  epoch  of  the  Renaissance  than  in  the 
days  when  Athens  was  supreme. 

The  Danae  of  Naples  was  painted  for  Ottavio 
Farnese,   when   Titian   was   sixty-eight   years   old. 


42  Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  point  out  certain  charms 
in  the  background  of  this  picture.  "  In  the  gloom 
behind,  made  gloomier  by  the  livid  cloud  from 
which  the  golden  rain  is  falling,  a  pillar  rears  its 
shaft  on  a  dark  gray  plinth,  cutting  strongly  on 
the  clear  blue  of  a  bright  and  sunny  sky,  and  a  dis- 
tance of  hills  and  trees  bathed  in  haze.  .  .  .  The 
glow  of  day  seems  to  fade  as  it  rests  on  the  boy, 
and  is  quenched  in  the  darkness  behind,  .  .  .  yet, 
looking  into  the  picture  closely,  we  see  how  spacious 
breadths  of  light  are  marred  on  the  prominent  places 
and  illumined  with  decisive  touches  of  still  lighter 
quality,  while  pearly  half-tints  of  great  tenderness 
and  transparent  strata  of  a  deeper  value  are  broken 
and  rejoined  by  rubbings  and  glazings  with  a  skill 
quite  incomparable."  Titian  is  said  to  have  mod- 
elled the  Cupid  for  this  picture  after  the  Cupid  of 
Praxiteles ;  as  Crowe  says :  "  With  a  power  of 
assimilation,  which  is  truly  marvellous,  he  mastered 
the  laws  of  motion  illustrated  in  the  statue,  divined 
the  classic  method  of  interpreting  form,  committed 
to  memory  its  grand  disposal  of  lines,  and  repro- 
duced them  in  his  own  peculiar  way.  .  .  .  He  did 
this  by  reversing  the  action  of  the  legs  and  frame, 
and  altering  the  turn  of  the  head,  and  thus  produced 
something  original  that  reminds  us  of  the  Greeks." 
Taine,  describing  the  Naples  Danae,  says :  "  This 
head  is  quite  vulgar;  nothing  beyond  the  voluptu- 


TTbc  %oves  ot  Zeus  43 

ous  .  .  .  but  what  flesh  tones  relieving  on  that 
white  linen  and  on  that  golden  hair  in  such  wild 
disorder  about  the  throat!  What  a  perfect  hand 
projecting  from  that  diamond  bracelet,  and  what 
beautiful  fingers  and  yielding  form !  " 

Mundler  considers  it  a  triumph  of  aerial  perspec- 
tive and  chiaroscuro.  Morelli  says  that,  in  being 
far  removed  from  the  "  immoral  prudery  "  of  the 
present  day,  he  thinks  it  more  worthy  to  be  ranked 
with  Greek  art  than  any  other  picture.  He  is  cer- 
tainly right  about  its  not  being  prudish. 

In  Correggio's  famous  Danae  in  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese  in  Rome,  the  maiden  is  half-sitting,  half-re- 
cumbent, while  Cupid,  figured  as  a  half-grown 
youth,  is  looking  up  at  a  round  cloud,  which,  hover- 
ing above,  emits  a  few  drops  of  molten  gold.  Danae 
in  this  picture  is  quite  unchaperoned  by  any  female 
attendants.  Two  delightful  and  world-renowned 
little  Cupids  are  seen  on  the  floor  in  the  foreground, 
sharpening  their  arrows.  Correggio's  pagan  irre- 
sponsible charm  pervades  the  picture,  which  is  soft 
and  mellow  in  colour.  The  body  of  the  young  girl 
is  finely  modelled,  and  the  boy  Cupid  is  a  study  of 
youthful  grace.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  brazen 
tower,  and  a  city  landscape  is  seen  through  an  open- 
ing on  the  left.  There  is  little  of  the  gorgeous  dress- 
ing and  upholstery  of  the  Renaissance  in  this 
painting.  The  types  are  not  distinctively  of  any  one 


44  Classic  to$tbs  in  Brt 

period,  and  both  Danae  and  Cupid  might  easily  be 
Greeks,  —  a  god  and  a  maiden  of  the  Golden  Age. 
The  little  attendant  loves  are  delightful  creations. 
One  of  them  leans  over  with  great  preoccupation, 
holding  the  point  of  his  arrow  down  carefully  to 
be  sharpened,  while  the  other,  drawing  back  a  little* 
grips  the  block  upon  which  his  cornpanion  is  press- 
ing. They  are  little  embodiments  of  earnestness  of 
purpose,  and  would  serve  as  models  of  diligence 
in  decorating  the  walls  of  a  modern  kindergarten. 
There  is  a  Danae  in  Dresden  by  Van  Dyck.  The 
classic  feeling  is  lacking  in  this  picture.  Danae,  lying 
on  a  couch,  is  extending  her  arms  toward  the  golden 
shower,  wljich  is  not  only  exemplified  by  money, 
but  also  by  jewels,  —  chains,  rings,  and  trinkets 
descend  upon  the  delighted  damsel,  who,  with  real 
cupidity,  but  with  an  expressionless  face,  is  wel- 
coming these  tokens  of  regard.  Her  attendant  — 
not  a  venerable  dame  like  Titian's,  but  a  young  and 
good-looking  girl  —  gazing  with  envious  wonder 
at  the  phenomenon,  holds  up  an  edge  of  the  sheet 
that  none  of  the  gold  be  lost.  An  adoring  Cupid, 
who  seems  to  recognize  the  glittering  intruder  as 
a  manifestation  of  his  volatile  sovereign,  is  kneel- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  He  is  a  sweet  Dutch 
urchin,  —  very  human.  Danae  herself  is  a  blond 
Dutch  girl,  such  as  Van  Dyck  had  often  painted. 


Xoves  ot  Zeus  45 

The  draperies  and  accessories  of  the  picture  are 
well  handled. 

Rembrandt's  Danae  in  the  Hermitage  is  seen  in 
a  deep  shadow,  the  light  being  all  thrown  in  through 
a  lifted  curtain  in  the  background.  A  male  attend- 
ant is  raising  this  curtain,  and  one  expects  to  see 
Jupiter  enter  in  the  blaze  of  light.  Above  Danae 
floats  a  Cupid  made  of  gold  —  burnished,  like  a 
small  statuette.  The  idea  is  not  artistic,  and  the 
figure  of  Danae  is  rather  thin,  and  shivering. 

There  is  a  quaint  little  picture  of  Danae  by  Ma- 
buse,  who  painted  about  1490.  The  picture  is  in 
Munich.  It  is  quite  mediaeval  in  its  conscientious  ob- 
servation of  the  details  of  the  legend.  Danae  is  sit- 
ting quite  alone  in  a  little  round  turret-chamber ;  she 
is  looking  up  to  the  roof,  where  a  light  cloud  has 
gathered,  from  which  a  literal  shower  is  descend- 
ing. This  is  not  in  the  form  of  money,  for  once; 
it  is  a  genuine  rain  of  tiny  golden  drops,  almost  a 
mist.  The  stiff  little  Flemish  lady  looks  surprised 
and  pleased,  but  not  much  excited  by  the  peculiar 
manifestation.  About  her  neck,  where  her  satin 
garment  has  slipped  down,  one  can  see  the  ribbon 
which  is  usually  worn  with  a  scapular.  The  turret- 
room  is  surrounded  by  columns,  with  a  view  out 
over  the  city  buildings. 

Perhaps  the  most  individual  picture  of  Danae 
is  that  by  Paul  Veronese,  in  the  Royal  Gallery  of 


4$  Classic  flDvtbs  in  Hrt 

Turin.  The  figure  is  seen  from  the  side  and  back; 
she  is  on  a  couch  close  to  the  loggia-like  opening 
in  her  tower.  The  golden  rain  is  coming  in  upon 
her,  and  seems  to  alarm  her ;  she  reaches  up  her  arm 
and  tries  to  protect  herself  with  the  hanging  drapery 
of  the  couch.  Her  curious  and  unusual  attitude  is 
worthy  of  notice,  the  foreshortening  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  body  being  clever,  and  the  whole  a  strik- 
ing and  interesting  composition. 

In  Naples  is  a  Danae  in  the  school  of  Tintoretto 
which  is  very  disappointing.  Whoever  the  scholar 
of  Tintoret  was,  he  had  imbibed  little  from  his 
master.  The  soft  treatment  of  the  flesh  seems  to 
be  the  only  feature  in  common  between  the  two. 
The  face  of  Danae  is  vapid,  and  the  attitude  un- 
gainly. 

Calvart  has  painted  a  tumultuous  picture  of 
Danae,  but  it  has  little  merit. 

The  myth  of  Europa  is  one  with  the  most  promis- 
ing artistic  possibilities.  She  was  another  famous 
love  of  Jupiter,  who  approached  her  under  the  dis- 
guise of  a  bull.  She  was  the  daughter  of  King 
Agenor  of  Phoenicia.  The  story  of  Jupiter's  woo- 
ing of  this  maiden  is  told  by  the  old  Greek  idyllist, 
Moschus,  and  no  words  could  improve  upon  the 
stately  narrative  as  he  renders  it.  Europa  is 
described  as  going  forth  with  her  friends  to  sport 
in  the  meadows,  "  when  she  was  arrayed  for  the 


Ube  Xoves  of  Zeus  47 

dance,  or  when  she  would  bathe  her  bright  body  at 
the  mouths  of  the  river,  or  would  gather  fragrant 
lilies  on  the  leas."  A  charming  description  follows, 
of  the  girls  gathering  flowers :  "  But  in  the  midst 
of  them  all  the  princess  culled  with  her  hand  the 
splendour  of  the  crimson  rose,  and  shone  pre- 
eminent among  them  all  like  the  foam-born  goddess 
among  the  Graces.  Verily  she  was  not  for  long  to 
set  her  heart's  desire  upon  the  flowers,  .  .  .  for  of 
a  truth  the  son  of  Kronos  so  soon  as  he  beheld  her 
was  troubled,  and  his  heart  was  subdued  by  the 
sudden  shafts  of  Cypris,  who  alone  can  conquer  even 
Jupiter.  Therefore,  both  to  avoid  the  wrath  of 
jealous  Juno,  and  being  eager  to  beguile  the  maiden's 
tender  heart,  he  concealed  his  godhead,  and  changed 
his  shape,  and  became  a  bull."  Ovid's  description 
of  the  bull  is  most  artistic :  "  The  father  and  the 
ruler  of  the  gods,  whose  right  hand  is  armed  with 
three-forked  flames,  who  shakes  the  world  with  his 
nod,  laying  aside  the  dignity  of  his  empire,  assumes 
the  appearance  of  a  bull  ...  his  colour  is  that  of 
snow,  which  neither  the  soles  of  hard  feet  have 
trodden  upon,  nor  the  watery  south  wind  melted. 
His  horns  .  .  .  are  more  transparent  than  a  bright 
gem."  So  Jupiter,  as  a  neat  and  gentle  young  bull, 
came  into  the  pasture  where  the  maidens  were  play- 
ing, and  he  came  among  them  so  quietly,  and  ap- 
peared so  amiable,  that  they  were  in  no  way  dis- 


48  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

turbed,  but  soon  began  to  pat  him  and  to  deck  him 
with  flowers,  and  finally  Europa  grew  bold,  saying, 
"  Let  us  mount  the  bull  here  and  take  our  pastime, 
for  truly  he  will  bear  us  on  his  back  and  carry  all  of 
us!  And  how  mild  he  is,  and  dear,  and  gentle  to 
behold,  and  no  whit  like  other  bulls!  A  mind  as 
honest  as  a  man's  possesses  him,  and  he  lacks  nothing 
but  speech !  "  So  she  spake,  and  smiling,  she  sat 
down  on  the  back  of  the  bull,  and  the  others  were 
about  to  follow.  But  the  bull  leaped  up  immediately, 
now  he  had  gotten  her  that  he  desired,  and  swiftly 
he  sped  to  the  deep.  Then  the  god,  bearing  the 
maiden  on  his  back,  swam  far  out  to  sea,  and  when 
they  were  out  "  where  neither  sea-beat  headland 
nor  steep  hill  could  now  be  seen,"  Europa,  with 
pardonable  and  even  commendable  curiosity,  in- 
quired of  the  bull  his  intentions.  "  Whither  bear- 
est  thou  me,  bull-god  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What  art 
thou  ?  How  dost  thou  fare  on  thy  feet  through  the 
path  of  the  sea-beasts,  nor  fearest  the  sea?  The 
sea  is  a  path  fit  for  swift  ships  that  traverse  the 
brine,  but  bulls  dread  the  salt  sea  ways.  What  drink 
is  sweet  to  thee,  what  food  shalt  thou  find  from  the 
deep?  Nay,  art  thou  then  some  god?  For  god-like 
are  these  deeds  of  thine."  (Which  remark  from  the 
ingenuous  Europa  is  circumstantial  evidence  that  the 
gods  of  Olympus  were  constantly  indulging  in  such 
escapades.)  So  spake  she,  and  the  horned  bull 


Xoves  of  Zeus  49 

made  answer  to  her  again :  "  Take  courage, 
maiden,  and  dread  not  the  swell  of  the  deep.  Be- 
hold, I  am  Jupiter,  even  I,  though  closely  beheld 
I  wear  the  form  of  a  bull,  for  I  can  put  on  the  sem- 
blance of  what  thing  I  will.  But  'tis  love  of  thee 
that  has  compelled  me  to  measure  out  so  great  a 
span  of  the  salt  sea  in  a  bull's  shape.  So  Crete  shall 
presently  receive  thee."  In  the  "  Palace  of  Art," 
Tennyson  has  enshrined  this  charming  scene : 

"  Or  sweet  Europa's  mantle  blew   unclasped 
From  off  her  shoulder  backward  borne, 
From  one  hand  drooped  a  crocus,  one  hand  grasped 
The  mild  bull's  golden  horn." 

Among  ancient  statues  there  is  one  in  the  Vatican 
of  Europa  riding  the  bull. 

Paul  Veronese,  in  his  sumptuous  Venetian  way, 
has  painted  this  myth  several  times.  The  most 
satisfactory  of  his  pictures  is  in  the  Ducal  Palace 
in  Venice.  As  Ruskin  says,  "  It  is  one  of  the  very 
few  pictures  which  both  possess  and  deserve  a  high 
reputation."  So  far  as  classic  feeling  for  actual 
representation  of  the  scene  is  concerned,  this  paint- 
ing cannot  be  called  Greek.  But  it  is  full  of  that 
abundant  life,  warm  colour,  and  appreciation  of 
beauty  which  in  the  days  of  the  Renaissance  was 
connoted  by  the  word  Greek.  The  classic  revival 
meant  just  that;  —  standards  of  typical  grace  and 


So  Classic  flDstbs  in  art 


harmonious  lines  superseded  the  far  more  interest- 
ing but  inaccurate  work  of  the  mediaeval  artists. 
Gorgeousness  of  detail,  with  harmony  of  composi- 
tion, began  to  be  understood  again  as  it  had  not 
been  since  classic  times.  Veronese's  picture  in 
Venice  should  be  compared  with  his  treatment  of  the 
same  subject  in  a  painting  in  the  Capitoline  Gallery 
in  Rome.  The  two  compositions  are  alike,  —  at  first 
one  would  say  that  they  were  exactly  alike,  —  but 
soon  one  notices  that  in  Venice  Europa  is  seen  in  pro- 
file, while  in  Rome  she  is  seen  full-face,  looking  up 
into  the  heavens  above.  The  moment  selected  for 
representation  is  the  same  in  each.  The  beautiful 
white  bull  has  laid  himself  down  upon  the  flower- 
strewn  grass,  that  Europa  may  climb  upon  his  back. 
She  is  just  seating  herself,  and  her  companions  are 
assisting  her  to  arrange  her  very  stiff  Venetian  satin 
and  brocade  draperies.  One  maiden,  a  beautifully 
foreshortened  figure,  leans  forward  to  clasp  a  shoul- 
der-strap which  has  come  unfastened.  Another 
companion,  surprised,  is  stretching  up  her  hands 
to  two  little  Loves,  which  fly  above,  one  of  them 
bearing  a  wreath  for  the  new  favourite  of  Zeus. 
Taine,  in  speaking  of  the  Europa  of  Veronese  at 
Venice,  calls  attention  to  the  lustrous  colouring: 
"  The  reflection  of  the  foliage  overhead,"  he  ob- 
serves, "  bathes  the  entire  picture  with  an  aqueous 
green  tone;  the  white  drapery  of  Europa  is  tinged 


ft  be  Stoves  ot  Zeus  s1 

with  it;  she,  arch,  subtle,  and  languishing,  seems 
almost  like  an  eighteenth  century  figure.  This  is 
one  of  those  works  in  which,  through  subtlety  and 
combination  of  tones,  a  painter  surpasses  himself, 
forgets  his  public,  loses  himself  in  the  unexplored 
regions  of  his  art,  and,  discarding  all  known  rules, 
finds,  outside  of  the  common  world  of  sensible  ap- 
pearances, harmonious  contrasts,  and  peculiar  suc- 
cesses beyond  all  verisimilitude  and  all  proportion." 
Europa  herself  is  a  beautiful  court  lady,  well-born 
and  well-dressed,  whose  only  concession  to  classic 
prejudice  is  a  sandalled  foot,  which  the  bull,  turning 
his  head,  has  reached,  and  is  caressing  with  his 
tongue  after  the  manner  of  his  kind.  In  a  deep  vale 
at  the  right  of  the  picture  the  story  is  carried  out 
on  two  planes.  Europa,  seated,  is  seen  going  off 
on  the  bull's  back  toward  the  shore;  later,  the  bull 
has  plunged  into  the  water,  and  is  swimming  away 
with  the  princess,  who  is  waving  farewell  to  her 
astonished  companions.  In  the  Roman  picture  these 
secondary  details  are  on  a  larger  scale  than  in  the 
Venetian  one,  where  they  are  merely  background 
accessories.  It  is  a  matter  of  taste  whether  one 
prefers  the  profile  view  of  Europa  or  the  full-face ; 
the  first  seems  more  pleasing  and  less  theatrical. 
There  is  a  little  touch  of  humour  in  the  composition 
which  sometimes  escapes  the  notice  of  observers. 
At  the  extreme  right  of  the  picture  (discernible  in 


52  Classic  flDstbs  tn  art 


either,  but  more  clearly  defined  in  that  in  Rome)  is 
the  head  of  an  investigating  cow,  who  has  been  led 
to  inquire  into  this  mysterious  transaction!  In  the 
painting  in  Rome  this  cow  is  lowing  vociferously. 

That  delightful  old  traveller,  Dr.  John  Moore, 
tells  us  of  his  impressions  of  Veronese's  Europa  : 
"  The  foot  of  Europa  is  honoured  by  the  particular 
admiration  of  the  connoisseurs,"  writes  Doctor 
Moore,  in  the  eighteenth  century.  "  The  bull  seems 
to  be  of  their  way  of  thinking,  for  he  licks  it.  ... 
Some  people  admire  even  this  thought  of  the  painter  ; 
I  cannot  say  that  I  am  of  the  number.  I  think  it 
is  the  only  thing  in  the  picture  which  is  not  admi- 
rable; it  is  making  Jupiter  enter  a  little  too  much 
into  the  character  he  has  assumed." 

"  Veronese  produced  the  happiest  picture  in  the 
world,"  says  Henry  James.  "  The  Rape  of  Europa 
surely  deserves  that  title;  it  is  impossible  to  look 
at  it  without  aching  with  envy.  Nowhere  else  in 
art  is  such  a  temperament  revealed;  never  did  in- 
clination and  opportunity  combine  to  express  such 
enjoyment.  The  mixture  of  flowers  and  gems,  and 
brocade  and  blooming  flesh,  and  shining  sea  and 
waving  groves,  of  youth,  health,  movement,  desire, 
—  all  this  is  the  brightest  vision  that  ever  descended 
upon  the  soul  of  a  painter.  Happy  the  artist  who 
could  entertain  such  a  vision  ;  happy  the  artist  who 
could  paint  it  as  the  Rape  of  Europa  is  painted." 


Xoves  ot  Zeus  53 

Of  this  picture  it  is  interesting  to  note  two  abso- 
lutely opposite  opinions  given  by  two  critics. 
Charles  Blanc  says :  "  In  my  opinion  this  is  one  of 
the  least  successful  pictures  of  the  master,  and  void 
of  expression.  The  heroine  is  badly  posed  on  the 
bull,  which  looks  like  a  calf."  Lecomte  observes: 
"  Nothing  can  be  fresher  than  this  painting,  nothing 
more  gracious  than  this  composition  .  .  .  the  deli- 
cate opal  tone  of  the  dress  of  the  principal  figure  is 
inimitable." 

Paul  Veronese  has  also  a  Europa  at  Dresden,  not 
differing  very  essentially  from  these.  Ruskin  calls 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  entire  foreground  is 
covered  with  flowers,  but  "  executed  with  sharp, 
crude  touches  like  those  of  a  decorative  painter." 

There  is  a  painting  in  Vienna  by  H.  Von  Balen, 
representing  this  scene  in  a  slightly  different  way. 
Europa,  seated  on  the  bull,  occupies  the  central  posi- 
tion, but  the  maidens  about  her  look  more  like 
nymphs  or  bacchantes;  they  carry  flat,  round  bas- 
kets of  flowers,  which  they  pass  to  the  attendant 
loves,  who  are  numerous,  and  give  the  scene  an 
almost  faery  aspect.  The  women  are  too  mature 
and  stout,  and  the  bull  is  indifferent  and  heavy.  It 
is  in  no  way  as  fine  a  work  as  that  of  Veronese. 
Two  little  simpering  Cupids  are  picking  over  a 
basket  of  flowers  in  the  foreground.  The  maidens 
are  only  clothed  in  floating  scarfs,  which  would 


54  Classic  /iDvtbs  in  Hrt 

certainly  not  continue  to  float  long  in  the  very  loose 
manner  in  which  they  are  adjusted.  In  fact,  these 
girls  are  draped  only  for  tableau  purposes.  Move- 
ment would  disrobe  them  at  once. 

In  the  Uffizi  Gallery  in  Florence  is  a  picture  by 
Francesco  Albani,  representing  the  flight  of  Europa 
and  the  bull  from  the  water  point  of  view.  Jupiter 
swims  bravely  off  with  Europa  on  his  back;  surely 
none  but  a  supernatural  bull  could  so  dominate  the 
flood  as  to  float  so  high  as  he  does !  The  somewhat 
startled  Europa  looks  rather  regretfully  back  at  the 
group  of  companions  on  the  distant  shore.  Numer- 
ous Cupids  attend  the  unique  elopement,  some  of 
whom  wave  drapery  of  a  reddish  hue;  some  lead 
Jupiter  by  a  garland  of  flowers,  while  one,  at  the 
back,  prods  the  bull  with  his  arrow  to  urge  him  on. 
In  the  sky  hovers  Mercury  with  his  caduceus,  while 
Jove's  eagle  precedes  his  transformed  lord.  There 
is  a  picture  of  the  same  subject  by  Albani  in  the 
Hermitage,  almost  exactly  like  the  one  in  Florence. 

The  earliest  description  of  a  painting  of  Europa 
is  found  in  that  old  Greek  novel,  "  Cleitophon  and 
Leucippe,"  by  Achilles  Tatius,  showing  that  the 
ancient  painters  portrayed  the  scene  much  as 
modern  men  have  done.  "  And  in  the  picture,  on 
the  land  was  a  meadow  and  a  band  of  maidens  danc- 
ing. And  on  the  sea  there  swam  a  bull,  on  whose 
back  a  fair  maiden  sat,  steering  toward  Crete  upon 


Xo\>es  of  Zeus  ss 

the  beast.  The  meadow  was  all  abloom  with  many 
flowers  .  .  .  long  rows  of  trees,  dense  growth  of 
boughs.  Beneath  the  boughs  the  artist  had  painted 
the  shade,  and  down  on  the  meadow  the  sun 
gently  filtered  through  in  scattered  rays,  where 
the  painter  had  made  openings  in  the  dense  foliage. 
...  In  mid-sea  a  bull  was  painted,  riding  upon  the 
billows  .  .  .  right  upon  its  back  a  maiden  sat,  not 
across,  but  sideways :  and  her  legs  hung  over  to  the 
right,  while  with  her  left  hand  she  grasped  its  horn, 
as  a  driver  holds  the  reins;  for  the  bull  steered 
rather  to  the  left,  where  the  pressure  of  her  hand 
was  guiding  it.  ...  And  a  kirtle  hung  about  her 
breast  .  .  .  and  the  rest  of  her  body  was  covered 
with  a  cloak.  White  was  the  kirtle,  and  purple-red 
the  cloak,  but  the  shapeliness  of  her  form  was  visible 
for  all  her  clothing.  .  .  .  Her  hands  were  spread 
on  either  side  of  her,  one  toward  the  bull's  horn, 
and  the  other  toward  its  tail.  .  .  .  Around  the  bull 
dolphins  sported  and  young  loves  did  play.  .  .  . 
Love  drew  on  the  bull,  Love,  the  little  child,  and 
spread  his  wings  and  shook  his  quiver  and  with- 
held his  torch  and  turned  and  smiled  in  sport  at 
Zeus." 

In  the  Barberini  Palace  there  is  a  mosaic,  found 
at  Praeneste,  which  shows  the  Rape  of  Europa. 
The  bull  is  just  plunging  into  the  water,  with  the 
maiden  on  his  back,  while  her  companions  on  the 


5$  Classic  flDptbs  in  Brt 

shore  are  running  and  shouting.  The  drawing  of 
the  bull  is  unusually  fine  and  spirited  in  action. 

The  Europa  in  the  Dulwich  Gallery  is  pronounced 
by  Ruskin  to  be  "  an  exquisite  and  inimitable  little 
bit  of  colour.  He  continues :  "  The  blue  of  the  dark 
promontory  on  the  left  is  thoroughly  absurd  and  im- 
possible, and  the  warm  tones  of  the  clouds  equally 
so,  unless  it  were  sunset;  but  the  blue,  especially, 
because  it  is  nearer  than  several  points  of  land, 
which  are  equally  in  shadow,  and  yet  are  rendered 
in  warm  gray.  But  the  whole  value  and  tone  of  the 
picture  would  be  destroyed  if  this  blue  were  altered." 

Titian's  Europa,  although  a  late  work  of  the  mas- 
ter, and  therefore  bold  and  dashing  in  touch,  has 
magic  effects  of  light  and  shade,  and  is  genial  and 
charming  in  atmosphere.  The  bull,  garlanded, 
rushes  through  the  water,  while  the  head  of  a  dolphin 
is  just  visible  —  this  may  be  Neptune  in  disguise, 
doing  a  little  detective  work  on  his  gay  brother-deity. 
The  bull  leaves  a  white  wake  behind  him,  showing 
his  impetuous  speed.  On  his  back,  of  course,  is 
seen  Europa,  holding  his  horn  by  one  hand  and 
stretching  the  other  toward  the  shore.  Her  orange 
draperies,  relieved  by  white  muslin,  are  well  con- 
trasted with  the  green  foaming  surges  of  the  water. 
Cupid  rides  a  dolphin  near  by.  The  shadow  which 
Europa's  lifted  arm  casts  upon  her  own  face  is 
painted  with  great  delicacy. 


of  £eus  57 

The  story  of  Jupiter  and  Antiope  is  often  used 
in  art.  Antiope  was  a  beautiful  girl,  whom  Jupiter, 
in  the  form  of  a  satyr,  wooed  and  won.  She  is 
usually  represented  as  sleeping  after  her  exertions 
in  the  Maenad  dances,  when  approached  by  the 
Olympian  king.  The  two  most  famous  pictures 
dealing  with  the  legend  are  a  large  canvas  by 
Titian  in  the  Louvre,  and  Correggio's  Antiope  in  the 
same  gallery.  Titian's  work  was  originally  the 
property  of  Philip  II.  of  Spain.  It  has  great  beauty 
of  form  and  arrangement,  fine  light  and  shade,  and 
shows  magic  skill  in  handling.  Titian  had  been 
painting  for  fifty  years  when  he  produced  it.  Anti- 
ope lies  back  upon  a  bed  of  skins,  in  the  fresh  open 
landscape,  sleeping  or  indulging  in  a  day-dream. 
Jupiter,  approaching  in  his  disguise  as  a  satyr,  is 
pulling  away  her  draperies.  She  is  apparently  quite 
unconscious,  —  let  us  give  her  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,  and  assume  that  she  sleeps.  Crowe  and 
Cavalcaselle  observe  that  "  her  shape  is  modelled 
with  a  purity  of  colour  and  softness  of  rounding 
hardly  surpassed  in  the  Parian  marble  of  the 
ancients."  Cupid  is  seen  in  a  tree,  aiming  an  arrow 
at  the  satyr.  Jupiter  and  Antiope  form  part  only  of 
the  rural  scene.  The  picture  is  divided  by  a  tree,  and 
on  the  other  side  a  satyr  and  nymph  are  seated  in 
conversation,  while  a  hunter,  with  dogs,  followed 
by  a  youth  sounding  a  horn,  are  starting  to  cross 


58  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

the  sward  toward  the  spot  where  a  stag  is  being 
brought  to  bay.  The  whole  composition  is  a  charm- 
ing scene  of  sylvan  joyousness  and  unrestrained 
pagan  vitality.  In  these  particulars  it  is  Greek, 
although  the  landscape  is  essentially  Italian,  such 
as  Titian  must  have  grown  up  amidst  in  the  hills  of 
Cadore.  The  various  textures  in  this  painting 
are  well  rendered. 

Correggio's  Antiope  is  more  concrete  in  con- 
ception. It  deals  only  with  Jupiter  and  the  sleeping 
nymph,  who  lies  in  such  a  way,  and  is  .so  disposed 
upon  the  canvas,  that  she  reaches  diagonally  nearly 
across  the  whole  space.  This  is  a  world-famed 
picture,  and  has  many  attractions  in  colour,  the 
luminous  flesh  of  the  nymph  contrasting  well  with 
the  rough  dark  being  who  kneels  by  her,  lifting  the 
covering  from  her  sleeping  form.  There  is,  however, 
very  bad  drawing  about  the  shoulders  of  Antiope, 
and  the  attitude  is  strained  and  awkward.  An  un- 
gainly little  Cupid  lies  by  the  side  of  Antiope.  The 
foreshortening  of  the  nymph's  body  is  defective, 
giving  her  a  stunted  appearance.  The  picture  be- 
longed to  the  Dukes  of  Mantua,  and  then,  through 
Charles  I.  and  Cardinal  Mazarin,  passed  finally  into 
the  possession  of  Louis  XIV. 

Paul  Veronese  painted  a  study  of  Jupiter  and 
Antiope,  which  is  in  Munich.  The  figures  are  seen 
only  to  the  waist,  and  occupy  the  whole  picture. 


Ube  Xoves  of  Zeus  59 

The  paint  is  thin,  on  a  very  coarse  canvas,  the  lights 
and  shadows  being  charmingly  disposed.  The  fair 
Antiope  is  in  strong  contrast  to  her  suitor.  The 
colouring  is  in  a  low  key. 

In  Munich  is  also  a  treatment  of  this  subject  by 
a  pupil  of  Van  Dyck.  Antiope,  slightly  covered 
with  a  blue  cloth,  lies  asleep  on  the  ground.  The 
satyr,  accompanied  by  the  eagle  of  Jove,  is  seen 
behind  her.  Cupids  hold  brownish  draperies  above. 
It  was  long  believed  to  be  the  work  of  Van  Dyck 
himself. 

Jupiter  frequently  walked  about  upon  the  earth. 
"  While  thus  he  often  went  to  and  fro,"  as  Ovid 
expresses  it,  "  he  stopped  short  on  seeing  a  virgin 
of  Monacris."  That  was  enough  for  Jupiter.  When 
the  charming  Calisto  laid  down  in  the  grove,  with 
her  quiver  under  her  head  for  a  pillow,  to  take  a 
noon-day  nap,  then  argued  the  Thunderer  with  him- 
self :  "  For  certain,  my  wife  will  know  nothing  of 
this  stolen  embrace;  or,  if  she  should  chance  to 
know,  —  is  her  scolding,  —  is  it,  I  say,  of  such 
great  consequence?  "  Having  reached  this  stage  in 
philosophy,  it  may  be  believed  that  nothing  could 
deter  Jove.  That  he  might  not  cause  alarm,  he 
took  on  the  form  of  Diana,  —  an  act  of  deliberate 
Olympic  forgery,  —  and  made  the  most  of  his 
opportunity.  When  Diana  discovered  the  error  of 


60  Classic  flDstbs  in  art 

this  her  nymph,  she  was  enraged,  and  ordered 
Calisto  out  of  her  sight. 

In  the  Gallerie  san  Luca  in  Rome  is  a  picture  by 
Titian,  of  Diana  discovering  the  guilt  of  the  un- 
happy Calisto.  The  figures  of  the  nymphs  are  some- 
what heavy,  but  the  wood-tones  and  luminous 
colouring  of  the  flesh  in  the  several  nude  figures  are 
charming.  This  picture  occurs  elsewhere;  Titian 
painted  it  several  times.  Calisto  'is  being  dealt  with 
in  a  summary  manner.  Taine  remarks  upon  this 
picture :  "  No  mere  prettiness  of  epicureanism  exists 
in  this  bold  composition.  The  nymphs  do  their 
office  brutally,  like  common  women  with  vigorous 
arms.  One  especially  erect,  and  with  a  superb, 
almost  masculine  torso,  is  a  virago,  capable  of  giving 
a  man  a  drubbing." 

Among  Jupiter's  other  indiscretions  was  his 
amour  with  the  nymph  lo,  a  fascinating  person  of 
whom  Juno  conceived  a  violent  and  legitimate  sus- 
picion. Juno,  as  Ovid  tells  us,  "  was  full  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  intrigues  of  a  husband  who  had 
been  so  often  detected."  So  Juno  decided  to  visit 
the  earth  in  search  of  her  missing  lord,  soliloquizing, 
"  I  am  either  deceived,  or  I  am  injured."  While 
Jupiter,  in  the  disguise  of  a  cloud,  was  enjoying  the 
companionship  of  his  fair  lo  one  day,  Juno,  looking 
down  through  the  thick  atmosphere,  was  just  in 
time  to  see  the  maiden  transformed  into  a  heifer. 


Ube  Xo\?es  of  Zeus  61 

Juno,  however,  had  seen  so  much  of  metamorphosis 
in  her  day,  especially  in  connection  with  the  amorous 
adventures  of  her  husband,  that  she  decided  to  set 
a  watch  upon  that  cow.  So  she  placed  her  under 
the  observation  of  the  hundred-eyed  Argus,  a  mytho- 
logical detective,  to  whom  all  these  optical  advan- 
tages must  have  been  of  inestimable  benefit.  Argus, 
having  so  many  eyes,  only  required  to  sleep  with  two 
at  a  time,  so  that  really  there  was  no  opportunity 
for  lo  to  resume  her  usual  shape,  or  to  receive  her 
Olympian  visitor  while  under  his  supervision. 
Therefore  Jupiter  sent  his  trusty  Mercury,  with  the 
injunction  that  he  must  find  a  way  to  make  Argus 
sleep  with  all  his  eyes  at  once.  After  some  attempts, 
Mercury  related  a  story  so  full  of  weariness,  and 
sighing,  and  disappointment,  that  the  hundred  eyes 
of  Argus  all  closed  in  self-defence.  As  soon  as 
he  became  unconscious,  Mercury  slew  him,  and  thus 
restored  lo  to  freedom.  Juno  took  the  eyes  of 
Argus,  by  way  of  a  memento,  and  has  immortalized 
them  by  setting  them  in  the  tail  of  her  peacock. 

In  the  House  of  Livia  on  the  Palatine  Hill,  there 
is  a  fresco  dating  from  the  first  century,  representing 
Mercury,  lo,  and  Argus.  The  Roman  reading  of  the 
myth  must  have  differed  somewhat  from  the  form 
in  which  it  has  descended  to  us,  for  in  this  old 
painting  lo  sits  at  the  foot  of  a  column,  in  human 


62  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

shape,  with  Mercury  at  one  side  and  Argus  at  the 
other. 

Early  Greek  vase-paintings  show  Argus  covered 
from  head  to  foot  with  eyes,  as  a  leopard  is  covered 
with  spots. 

The  most  beautiful  painting  of  lo  and  Jupiter 
is  in  Vienna,  and  is  by  Correggio.  The  entire  canvas 
is  rich  and  dark,  and  the  thick  cloud  is  descending. 
lo  sits  on  a  bank,  in  the  foreground,  with  her  back 
partly  turned,  and  her  head  thrown  back.  The  face 
of  Jove  is  discernible  in  the  shadow,  imprinting  a 
kiss  upon  her  lips,  while  one  hand,  much  veiled  in 
cloud,  reaches  around  her  waist.  She  leans  back 
with  her  eyes  half-closed.  The  figure  is  one  of  the 
most  beautifully  painted  nudes  in  art. 

The  Jupiter  and  lo  by  Meldola  in  St.  Petersburg 
shows  Jupiter  seated  on  the  ground  with  the  lovely 
nymph  in  the  midst  of  a  delightful  landscape.  In 
the  clouds  above  Juno  appears,  and  in  the  distance  is 
a  second  scene,  with  lo  metamorphosed  into  a 
heifer,  and  watched  by  Argus.  The  landscape  of  this 
picture  was  painted  by  Campagnola, 


CHAPTER    IV. 

VENUS   APHRODITE 

VENUS  APHRODITE,  goddess  of  love  and  beauty, 
figures  more  in  art  than  any  other  divinity  except, 
perhaps,  her  son  Cupid.  Seriously  worshipped  by 
the  ancients,  as  their  patron  of  all  things  fair  and 
full  of  pleasure,  she  has  become  the  great  opportun- 
ity for  later  painters,  who  are  always  glad  of  a 
rational  excuse  for  studying  the  nude.  At  one  time 
every  painter  of  note  created  as  many  Venuses  as  he 
could  procure  good-looking  models.  So  that  an  ex- 
haustive study  of  Venus  in  art  would  fill  volumes. 

The  Greek  representations  are  frequently  quite 
reverent,  as  the  Greeks  interpreted  reverence.  The 
statue  of  Aphrodite,  made  by  Kanochus  for  Sicyon, 
is  thus  described  by  Pausanias :  "  The  goddess, 
made  of  gold  and  ivory,  wears  the  peplos  on  her 
head;  in  one  hand  she  holds  a  poppy,  and  in  the 
other  an  apple."  The  fact  that  both  gold  and  ivory 
were  used  proves  that  the  statue  was  clothed;  for 
the  golden  part  would  have  been  the  drapery,  and 

63 


64  Classic  fl&stbs  in  art 

the  ivory  only  the  face  and  arms.  The  earlier  statues 
of  Venus  were  habitually  draped.  The  Homeric 
hymn  alludes  to  Aphrodite  as  wearing  "  a  veil  more 
dazzling  than  the  radiance  of  fire,  bracelets,  and 
earrings ;  her  neck  is  laden  with  golden  necklets,  and 
her  fair  breast  gleams  even  as  the  moon."  Until 
the  fifth  century  B.  c.,  Venus  appeared  as  a  modest 
matron,  clothed  in  the  best  fashion  of  the  period. 
The  change  to  the  entirely  nude,  as  we  see  this  god- 
dess in  nearly  all  subsequent  art,  must  have  been 
somewhat  gradual.  M.  Bernouille  says,  "  It  is 
inconceivable  that  Aphrodite  can  have  been  repre- 
sented completely  undraped  in  sculptural  art,  unless 
public  sentiment  had  been  prepared  for  the  change 
by  statues  partially  draped."  Probably  Scopas,  in 
the  incomparable  Venus  de  Milo,  made  this  inno- 
vation. The  Venus  de  Milo  is  one  of  the  most 
exalted  and  chaste  achievements  of  art  in  any 
period. 

Almost  at  once  sculptors  began  to  represent  the 
goddess  in  a  state  of  nature,  and  no  reports  have 
reached  modern  ears  that  it  proved  unsatisfactory. 
The  Capitoline  Venus,  the  crouching  Venus  in 
Naples,  the  Venus  de  Medici  in  Florence,  are  all 
what  might  be  called  "  familiar  figures." 

Cupid  is  often  a  mere  accessory  of  Venus,  —  as  it 
were,  the  active  principle  of  her  power.  "  A  young 
child,  with  wings,  bow,  and  quiver,"  as  Anacreon 


IDenus  Hpbrofctte  65 

describes  him,  he,  directed  by  his  mother,  wounded 
mortals,  more  or  less  at  the  goddess's  discretion. 
He  is  often  simply  her  messenger,  although  there 
are  a  cluster  of  myths  relating  to  him  independently, 
which  will  be  treated  of  in  their  place.  Cupid  is 
often  multiplied  by  groups  of  little  creatures  known 
as  Erote,  or  Amorini,  little  loves  who  assist  Cupid 
and  his  mother  on  all  occasions,  and  who  are  as 
numerous  in  pictures  of  Venus  as  are  the  small 
angels  in  pictures  of  the  Virgin.  They  are  not 
exactly  mythological  beings,  but  are  decorative,  sug- 
gestive, unquestioned  sprites,  who  serve  to  com- 
plete the  illusive  attractive  quality  of  many  pictures 
where  the  delicate  passion  of  love  is  the  key-note. 

In  Vienna  is  a  picture  of  Cupid  by  Parmigianino. 
He  is  seen  at  work  making  a  bow,  leaning  on  the 
long  shaft  of  wood,  which  he  is  hewing  into  shape, 
while  other  loves  are  seen  below  the  carpenter's 
bench  upon  which  Cupid  stands.  One  of  these 
amorini  is  crying;  either  the  flames  of  love  have 
scorched  him,  or  the  other  amorino  has  pinched 
him. 

The  statue  of  the  Venus  de  Medici,  almost  as 
famous  as  the  Venus  de  Milo,  is  well  described  by 
Taine  in  a  few  words :  "  A  slender  young  girl, 
with  a  delicate  head  ...  a  perfect  mortal  ...  at 
ease  in  a  nude  state,  and  free  from  that  somewhat 
mawkish  delicacy  and  bashful  coquetry  which  its 


66  Classic  /iDstbs  in  Brt 


copies  and  the  restored  arms,  with  their  thin  ringers, 
by  Bernini,  seem  to  impose  upon  her." 

Botticelli's  Birth  of  Venus  in  Florence  is  rather 
likely  to  be  the  first  Venus  which  comes  into  the 
mind  of  the  student.  Whether  one  likes  her  or  not, 
she  is  at  least  individual,  and  will  impress  herself 
on  the  memory.  She  stands  balanced  slightly  on  her 
left  foot,  on  the  edge  of  a  large  and  conscientiously 
drawn  scallop  shell,  on  which  she  has  floated  ashore. 
She  is  about  to  step  off  this  light  craft,  and  the  sway 
of  her  figure  is  full  of  action.  Without  clothing  of 
any  kind,  she  seems  complacent  enough  while  at  sea  ; 
but  a  more  worldly-wise  Flora,  herself  completely 
clad  in  a  thin  embroidered  garment,  meets  her  on 
her  landing  with  an  ample  mantle,  which  she  is 
about  to  throw  around  the  goddess.  Two  hard- 
working Zephyrs  are  blowing  the  shell  to  the  shore. 
They  are  thoroughly  breezy  figures,  with  the  swirl 
of  the  wind  and  the  brooding  quality  of  the  cloud. 
A  very  appreciative  and  illuminating  criticism  of 
this  picture  is  given  in  John  Addington  Symonds's 
"  Renaissance  in  Italy  "  :  "  It  would  be  impossible 
for  any  painter  to  design  a  more  exquisitely  out- 
lined figure  than  that  of  his  Venus,  who,  with  no 
covering  but  her  golden  hair,  is  wafted  to  the  shore 
by  zephyrs.  Roses  fall  upon  the  ruffled  waves,  and 
the  young  gods  of  the  air  twine  hands  and  feet  as 
they  float.  ...  It  would  seem  as  though  Botticelli 


tflenus  Spbrofcite  67 

intended  every  articulation  of  the  body  to  express 
some  meaning,  and  this,  though  it  enhances  the  value 
of  his  work  for  sympathetic  students,  often  leads 
him  to  the  verge  of  affectation." 

Botticelli's  Venus  was  painted  for  Lorenzo  de 
Medici,  and  is  in  tempera.  Burckhardt  says  of  it, 
"  He  produced  not  only  a  beautiful  nude,  but  a 
charming  fairy-like  impression."  The  hands  and 
feet  are  carefully  drawn,  as  Botticelli's  hands  and 
feet  always  are,  —  indeed,  the  effect  is  rather  that  of 
a  tinted  drawing  than  of  a  modelled  painting.  The 
tone  is  rather  gray  and  sober.  A  short  appreciation 
is  given  by  Vernon  Lee;  she  calls  Venus  "  not  trium- 
phant, but  sad  in  her  pale  beauty ;  a  king's  daughter 
bound  by  some  charm  to  flit  on  her  shell  over  rip- 
pling sea,  until  the  winds  blow  it  to  the  kingdom 
of  the  good  Fairy  Spring,  who  shelters  her  in  her 
laurel  grove,  and  covers  her  nakedness  with  the 
wonderful  mantle  of  fresh-blown  flowers ;  "  in  short, 
this  picture  is  a  mediaeval  fairy-tale,  based  on  the 
narrative  of  Greek  origin. 

Walter  Pater  contributes  several  thoughts  upon 
this  famous  picture.  He  speaks,  in  his  charming 
language,  of  the  draperies  as  "  powdered  all  over  in 
the  Gothic  manner  with  a  quaint  conceit  of  daisies ;  " 
and  goes  on  to  say  that  the  figure  of  Venus  re- 
minds one  of  the  faultless  nude  studies  of  Ingres, 
and  that  she  seems  to  recall  all  that  you  have  ever 


68  Classic  flbgtbs  in  art 

read  of  fifteenth-century  Florence.  He  then  suggests 
that  at  first  the  colouring  strikes  one  as  hard  and 
cold ;  "  and  yet,"  he  continues,  "  the  more  you  come 
to  understand  what  imaginative  colouring  really  is, 
that  all  colour  is  no  mere  delightful  quality  of 
natural  things,  but  a  spirit  upon  them  by  which  they 
become  expressive  to  the  spirit,  the  better  you  will 
like  this  peculiar  quality  of  colour."  He  then  speaks 
of  the  expression  of  sorrow  on  the  face  of  Venus, 
and  suggests  that  "you  might  think  that  it  was  at  the 
thought  of  the  whole  long  day  of  love  yet  to  come." 
Why  this  thought  should  prove  so  depressing  to 
Venus  some  of  us  may  fail  to  comprehend.  In  his 
analysis  of  the  mental  state  of  Venus,  Pater  pro- 
ceeds, "  What  is  unmistakable  is  the  sadness  with 
which  he  has  conceived  the  goddess  of  pleasure,  as 
the  depository  of  a  great  power  over  the  lives  of 
men."  At  any  rate,  whether  we  grasp  this  esoteric 
quality  in  the  intention  of  the  painter  or  not,  we 
can  appreciate  what  Walter  Pater  says  of  the  sea 
in  this  picture  as  "  showing  his  teeth,  and  sucking 
in  one  by  one  the  falling  roses,  each  severe  in  its 
outline,  plucked  off  short  at  the  stalk,  but  embrowned 
a  little  as  Botticelli's  flowers  always  are.  Botticelli 
meant  all  that  imagery  to  be  altogether  pleasurable; 
and  it  was  partly  an  incompleteness  of  resources, 
inseparable  from  the  art  of  that  time,  that  subdued 
and  chilled  it;  but  his  predilection  for  minor  tones 


Iflenus  Bpbrofcite  69 

counts  also."  Vernon  Lee,  in  "  Euphorion,"  speaks 
of  Venus  less  sympathetically.  She  says  that  Botti- 
celli's Venus,  "  despite  her  forms  studied  from  the 
antique,  and  her  gesture  imitated  from  some  earlier 
copy  of  the  Venus  de  Medici,  has  the  woe-begone 
prudery  of  a  Madonna  or  of  an  abbess.  She  shivers 
physically  and  morally  in  her  unaccustomed  naked- 
ness, and  the  goddess  of  spring,  who  comes  skipping 
up  from  a  laurel  copse,  does  well  to  prepare  for  her 
a  mantle,  for  in  the  pallid  tempera  colour,  against  the 
dismal  background  of  rippled  sea,  this  mediaeval 
Venus,  at  once  indecent  and  prudish,  is  no  very 
pleasing  sight." 

Botticelli's  Venus  in  Berlin,  a  single  figure,  is  not 
unlike  that  in  the  Birth  of  Venus.  The  attitude  and 
facial  expression  are  almost  the  same,  and  the  chief 
innovation  would  seem  to  be  a  pair  of  curious  stiff 
little  braids,  coming  with  exactness  from  beneath 
her  flowing  ringlets,  one  on  each  side.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  understand  why  Botticelli  elected  this  exotic 
style  of  head-dressing  for  his  goddess  of  love.  The 
lines  of  the  figure  are  beautiful,  if  one  could  only 
raise  the  shoulders  a  little  from  their  improbable 
slope. 

In  the  National  Gallery  is  a,  draped  Venus  by 
Botticelli,  reclining,  and  clothed  with  a  delicate 
rippling  gauze  garment,  in  the  fashion  loved  by  the 
artist.  Raised  upon  one  elbow,  the  goddess  looks 


70  Classic  fl&stbs  in  Brt 

straight  out  from  the  picture,  her  hair,  much 
shorter  than  that  of  the  nude  Venuses,  being  curled 
and  twisted,  and  lying  in  little  snaky  locks  on  her 
shoulders.  The  face  has  not  the  usual  appealing 
look  of  Botticelli's  women,  but  is  rather  set  and  firm 
in  its  expression.  There  are  little  Loves  playing 
about  her.  A  low-lying  plain,  with  hills  in  the  dis- 
tance, forms  the  background.  The  picture  on  the 
whole  possesses  great  decorative  value,  the  balance 
of  the  composition  being  much  more  normal  than 
that  in  many  of  Botticelli's  pictures. 

Giorgione's  Sleeping  Venus  in  Dresden,  from 
which  Titian's  Venus  in  the  Uffizi  was  supposed  to 
have  been  taken,  is  a  beautiful  recumbent  figure, 
of  sylph-like  proportions,  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  little 
hillock.  One  arm  is  thrown  above  her  head,  which 
rests  upon  it  in  slumber.  A  satin  robe  lies  dis- 
carded upon  the  ground,  and  the  pose  is  unconscious 
and  graceful.  The  colouring  of  the  picture  is  rich, 
and  in  the  background  is  seen  the  usual  Venetian 
landscape.  Morelli  calls  this  picture  "  the  quintes- 
sence of  Venetian  art."  Even  Raphael  never  dis- 
played a  finer  sense  of  outline  than  is  here  drawn. 
Morelli  considers  Giorgione's  Venus  realistic  in  the 
noblest  sense.  Some  critics  claim  that  a  Venus  by 
Titian  in  Darmstadt  was  the  original  from  which 
Giorgione  took  this  one;  Morelli  thinks  that  the 
Darmstadt  Venus  is  only  a  free  copy  of  this,  by 


Denus  Bpbrofcite  71 

"  some  feeble  German  artist  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury!" 

Titian's  two  Venuses  in  the  Tribuna  of  the  Uffizi 
should  next  claim  our  attention.  These  charming 
beings  have  such  varied  attributes,  each  being  of  a 
type  so  different  from  the  other,  that  one  must 
admire  the  genius  that  could  create  both.  Both 
these  goddesses  are  reclining,  one  stout  and  fair, 
the  other  a  slender  glowing  form.  The  two  are 
strangely  different  in  their  ideal  —  possibly  both 
were  portraits. 

The  first  mentioned  lies  on  a  couch  upon  an  open 
verandah,  with  a  background  of  open  landscape.  A 
little  Cupid  is  at  her  shoulder,  evidently  making  a 
confidential  suggestion.  She  turns  to  look  at  him. 
At  her  feet  a  small  dog  is  barking  furiously.  She  is 
a  more  mature,  firmly  built  person  than  the  second 
Venus.  Her  couch  is  the  colour  of  lake,  somewhat 
subdued;  she  holds  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  left 
hand.  The  dog  seems  interested  in  an  owl  which  is 
perched  on  the  sill.  A  little  table  at  the  right  has  a 
vase  of  flowers  standing  upon  it.  Red  curtains  close 
in  the  landscape  view,  where  a  sunset  is  suggested. 
The  colouring  of  the  whole  is  rather  a  soft  brownish 
tone.  This  Venus  is  something  like  the  Venus  with 
a  Mirror  in  the  Hermitage,  of  which  we  shall  speak 
later. 

The  other  Venus  is  lying  luxuriously  within  a 


72  Classic  /IDptbs  in  Hrt 

spacious  room,  where  women  are  seen  arranging 
clothing  in  a  chest  at  the  right.  The  face  is  said 
to  be  a  portrait  of  Eleonora  Gonzaga.  In  every 
other  respect  the  picture  is  almost  a  copy  of  Gior- 
gione's  Venus  at  Dresden;  and  Morelli  suggests 
that  Titian  was  probably  commissioned  by  Francesco 
Maria  della  Rovere  to  paint  a  copy  of  the  Giorgione, 
and  to  place  upon  it  the  head  of  his  beloved  Eleo- 
nora. 

It  passed  from  Urbino  to  Florence  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  and  this  is  the  only  historical  fact 
in  connection  with  it.  Venus  lies  on  a  couch  on 
which  a  muslin  sheet  covers  a  ruby-coloured  damask 
beneath.  She  is  playing  with  a  chaplet  of  flowers, 
leaning  on  her  right  elbow.  A  little  dog  lies  at  the 
foot  of  the  couch.  She  is  not  conceived  as  a  stately 
goddess,  but  as  one  who  would  preside  over  the  altar 
of  love  without  the  ceremony  of  a  court.  She  is  a 
natural  and  beautiful  woman,  and  as  such  might 
belong  to  any  period.  She  is  not  Greek  in  any 
specific  way ;  Crowe  says  of  this  painting :  "  Per- 
fect distribution  of  space,  a  full  and  ringing  har- 
mony of  tints,  atmosphere  both  warm  and  mellow, 
are  all  combined  in  such  wise  as  to  bring  us  in  con- 
tact with  something  that  is  real,  and  we  feel  as  we 
look  into  the  canvas  that  we  might  walk  into  that 
apartment  and  find  room  to  wander  in  the  gray  twi- 


IDenus  Hpbro&ite  73 

light  into  which  it  is  thrown  by  the  summer  sky 
that  shows  through  the  coupled  windows." 

In  Madrid  is  another  Venus  almost  like  the  first 
in  the  Tribuna,  except  that  no  Cupid  is  introduced, 
and  she  is  caressing  a  little  silky  brown  dog.  At 
the  foot  of  the  couch  sits  a  man  playing  on  an  organ. 
A  hunting-party  may  be  seen  in  the  distance,  and  a 
peacock  admiring  itself  in  a  fountain.  The  man 
sitting  at  the  organ  may  be  a  portrait,  —  there  is  no 
record  to  inform  us  of  the  exact  intention  of  the 
picture,  with  its  classic  goddess  and  its  sixteenth- 
century  Italian  garden,  and  people  in  Renaissance 
clothes.  The  picture  has  been  cleansed  and  restored, 
and  much  of  the  original  line  has  probably  been 
lost. 

In  Cambridge  there  is  a  Venus  said  to  be  by 
Titian,  a  little  on  the  order  of  the  one  in  Madrid. 
Venus  lies  on  a  couch  of  red  velvet^  while  an  Amo- 
rino  crowns  her  with  flowers.  She  holds  a  flute  in 
her  hand.  A  man  playing  upon  a  lute  sits  at  the  foot 
of  the  couch,  with  an  open  music-book  before  him. 
The  figure  of  the  goddess  is  heavy. 

A  Venus  by  Titian,  beautiful  in  form  and  colour, 
hangs  also  in  the  Hermitage.  The  picture  is 
usually  known  as  the  Toilet  of  Venus.  Two  little 
Cupids  are  holding  a  mirror  before  her.  She  is 
seated,  and,  looking  aslant  into  the  glass,  cannot 
fail  to  be  satisfied.  The  figure  of  Aphrodite  is  nude 


74  Classic  flDptbs  in  art 

to  the  hips,  about  which  she  holds  a  robe  of  furry 
material  elaborately  trimmed  with  embroidered 
ornament.  Her  hair  is  dressed  in  Venetian  Renais- 
sance style,  which  would  have  caused  the  Greeks 
vast  wonder.  The  goddess  is  very  plump.  The 
lights  in  the  picture  are  rather  artificial,  being 
arranged  so  as  to  illuminate  the  central  figure,  and 
to  leave  the  surroundings  in  shadow.  Titian  painted 
two  replicas  of  this  picture,  —  one  for  Philip  II.  of 
Spain,  and  one  for  Nicolo  Grasso.  There  are  several 
others  purporting  to  be  by  Titian,  but  most  of  them 
have  only  one  Cupid,  who  holds  the  glass,  while 
in  the  St.  Petersburg  picture  the  second  Cupid  is 
offering  Venus  a  chaplet.  This  picture  belonged  to 
Pomponio  Vecelli.  The  couch  on  which  Venus  sits 
is  striped  yellow  and  black,  while  her  mantle  is  of 
subdued  cherry  colour,  with  gold  enrichments.  The 
sash  about  the  Cupid  who  holds  the  mirror  is  yellow. 
The  second  Cupid  is  much  like  the  Cupid  in  the 
Venus  of  the  Uffizi.  The  background  hangings  are 
of  brown  and  green,  well  worked  together.  The  lit- 
tle bodies  of  the  Cupids  are  muscular  and  well  drawn. 
A  critic  points  to  the  broadly  modelled  surface, 
which  has  been  impasted  repeatedly  before  the  finish- 
ing glazing  and  smirching  was  done. 

Among  numerous  studies  of  Venus  by  Titian  may 
be  mentioned  the  one  known  as  the  Darmstadt 
Venus,  which  is  badly  injured,  a  Venus  in  the  Dul- 


IDenus  Hpbro&tte  75 

wich  Gallery,  where  Cupid  is  seen  pricking  the  hand 
of  Venus  with  an  arrow,  and  the  lovely  Venus 
Anadyomene  in  the  Bridgewater  Gallery,  who  is 
seen  standing  in  the  waves  about  her  knees,  lifting 
her  tresses,  heavy  with  the  water,  and  whose  form  is 
as  beautiful  as  her  face.  Her  eyes  are  most  scintillat- 
ing in  their  arch  expression,  but  she  is  not  an  in- 
genuous child  of  ocean;  she  is  the  world-versed 
goddess  who  is  conscious  of  all  that  life  holds  for 
her  as  ministrant  to  the  celestial  passion.  The 
modelling  of  her  flexible  body  is  enchanting. 

Titian's  famous  picture  of  Venus  Worship  hangs 
in  Madrid.  The  goddess  is  here  figured  by  a  marble 
statue  holding  a  shell ;  two  nymphs,  one  in  red  and 
one  in  uncompromising  blue,  are  at  her  feet.  Swarms 
of  Amorini  are  climbing  the  trees  of  the  grove,  and 
picking  fruit,  filling  baskets  with  it.  The  colouring 
is  warm,  in  spite  of  the  numerous  cool  grays  and 
greens.  They  say  that  when  Domenichino  heard 
that  this  picture  had  gone  to  Spain,  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes. 

There  are  four  Venuses  by  Raphael  in  the  Hermit- 
age. They  are  all  frescoes.  One  shows  her  riding 
on  a  marine  monster,  with  her  back  to  the  spectator, 
looking  over  her  shoulder.  Loves  and  dolphins 
accompany  her.  In  another  she  is  sitting  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree,  adjusting  her  sandal.  She  is  draped  in 
yellow,  and  a  dove  sits  on  a  tree  near  her.  In  a  third 


1&  Classic  /IDstbs  in  Hrt 

picture  she  appears  with  Adonis,  in  a  cosy  pastoral 
arrangement;  in  the  fourth  she  is  pleading  with 
Cupid,  apparently  beseeching  him  to  turn  an  arrow 
against  herself. 

The  Venus  by  Contarini  in  the  Academia  in1 
Venice  is  simply  an  inferior  copy  of  Titian's  Danae. 
The  attitude  of  the  goddess  is  precisely  the  same  as 
that  of  Danae,  the  only  marked  difference  in  the 
whole  being  that,  instead  of  a  golden  shower,  two 
doves  are  seen  on  a  twig,  and  there  is  no  old  crone 
or  companion,  and  no  Cupid.  The  texture  of  the 
bedclothes  is  very  peculiar  in  this  painting,  resem- 
bling sheets  of  Liberty  gauze  indifferently  rendered. 

Idyll  XIX.  of  Theocritus  was  evidently  in  the 
mind  of  Lucas  Kranach  when  he  painted  his  Venus 
which  now  hangs  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese.  Venus  is  entirely  nude,  tall  and  thin,  in  true 
mediaeval  feeling  as  expressed  by  Netherlandish 
painters.  She  has  the  apology  for  a  gauze  scarf 
trailing  across  her  arms,  but  it  is  too  filmy  to  be 
recognized  as  drapery  in  any  sense.  Her  hair  is 
composed  neatly  into  a  jewelled  net,  and  she  wears 
a  jaunty  velvet  hat  with  plumes,  which  accessory 
does  much  to  emphasize  her  nakedness.  By  her 
side  stands  a  Cupid  with  a  bit  of  honeycomb  in  his 
hand  from  which  tiny,  very  well  painted  bees  are 
issuing  and  alighting  upon  his  arm.  Theocritus, 
in  Calverley's  translation,  thus  suggests  the  subject : 


Denus  Bpbrofcite  77 

"  Once  thievish  Love  the  honeyed  hives  would  rob, 
When  a  bee  stung  him;    soon  he  felt  a  throb 
Through  all  his  finger-tips,  and,  wild  with  pain, 
Blew  on  his  hands  and  stamped  and  jumped  in  vain. 
To  Aphrodite  then  he  told  his  woe : 

'How  can  a  thing  so  tiny  hurt  one  so?' 
She  smiled  and  said :    '  Why,  thou'rt  a  tiny  thing, 
As  is  the  bee ;    yet  sorely  thou  canst  sting.' " 

In  the  Dresden  Gallery  is  a  very  pretty  Venus  by 
Guido  Reni.  The  goddess,  in  a  thoroughly  refined, 
ladylike  pose,  reclines  upon  a  couch,  while  a  well- 
bred  little  Cupid,  with  a  charming  manner,  steps 
forward  and  offers  her  an  arrow,  which  he  holds 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  she  receiving  it  in  an 
equally  dainty  way.  Though  the  picture  is  affected, 
it  is  extremely  pretty ;  its  evanescent  sweetness  calls 
for  no  more  dignified  characterization. 

Raphael's  "  Days "  are  well  known  to  all,  but 
many  people  do  not  stop  to  analyze  which  celestial 
being  is  selected  to  preside  over  each  day.  Venus 
rules  Friday.  She  is  seen  in  her  car,  drawn  by  doves 
through  the  clouds.  A  breezy,  beautiful  conception 
is  this,  and  quite  Greek  in  feeling  —  the  picture 
might  easily  have  been  taken  from  an  antique  gem, 
so  classic  is  the  whole  composition.  The  well-pro- 
portioned body  of  the  goddess  leans  slightly  forward, 
poised  upon  the  left  foot,  and  the  swinging  arms 
and  the  floating  draperies  are  full  of  graceful  action. 

In  the  Prado  in  Madrid  is  a  painting  by  Albani, 


Classic  flDgtbs  fn 


called  the  Toilet  of  Venus.  She  reclines  on  a 
crimson  velvet  chair,  contemplating  herself  in  a  mir- 
ror held  by  Cupid.  The  scene  is  in  a  garden;  an- 
other Cupid  ties  the  sandal  of  Venus,  and  two  others 
assist  at  the  toilet.  Fuseli  sums  up  the  chief  char- 
acteristics of  Albani,  when  he  alludes  to  his  "  Nere- 
ids and  Oreads  formed  on  plump  Venetian  models," 
and  speaks  of  their  pearly  hues  contrasted  with  "  the 
rosy  tints  of  Loves,  the  juicy  brown  of  fauns  and 
satyrs,  and  rich  marine  and  sylvan  scenery." 

In  the  Gallerie  de  San  Luca  in  Rome  there  is  a 
picture  of  Venus  and  Cupid  by  Guercino.  It  is  well 
drawn,  but  without  special  interest.  Venus  is  sit- 
ting on  the  ground,  her  elbow  resting  on  two  sym- 
metrical velvet  cushions.  She  is  out-of-doors.  She 
turns  to  look  above  at  Cupid,  who,  flying  through 
the  air,  has  just  despatched  an  arrow  from  his  bow, 
and  is  in  the  act  of  taking  another  from  his  quiver. 
The  figure  of  Venus  is  much  too  heavy  for  beauty  of 
line,  and  the  drapery  which  covers  half  her  body 
is  unimaginative  and  cumbrous. 

There  is  a  graceful  figure  of  Venus  by  Velas- 
quez in  the  collection  at  Rokeby  Park.  The  slight 
figure  is  reclining,  and  is  seen  from  behind.  She  is 
looking  in  a  mirror,  which  reflects  her  face. 

A  very  airy  composition  is  Bronzino's  Venus  and 
Cupid  in  the  Uffizi.  An  unyielding  figure  is  that  of 
the  deity,  as  she  poses,  like  a  ballet-girl,  although 


Denus  Bpbrofcite  79 

half -recumbent,  with  both  arms  stretched  out  and 
held  from  behind  by  Cupid.  The  position  is  an  im- 
possible one  —  without  the  aid  of  wings  it  could 
not  be  maintained.  The  picture  is  among  the  most 
affected  works  of  this  mannered  artist. 

There  are  two  abominable  panels  in  the  Corsini 
by  Albani  representing  Venus  and  Cupid.  One 
shows  the  goddess  sleeping,  —  a  fat,  lazy,  half- 
idiotic-looking  woman,  who  appears,  even  through 
her  closed  lids,  as  if  she  must  be  cross-eyed.  Very 
doll-like  Cupids  play  about  her,  one  bearing  a  fan  of 
ostrich  feathers,  and  one  holding  his  finger  to  his 
lips,  lest  some  one  should  disturb  Venus,  who  looks 
too  stupid  to  do  anything  but  snore  her  time  away. 
The  companion-picture  shows  Venus  awake,  slightly 
better  looking,  but  not  much  more  intellectual ;  she 
is  admiring  a  shield  with  a  heart  upon  it,  which  is 
presented  to  her  by  an  artificial  Cupid,  who  has 
been  using  it  as  a  target.  Supernumeraries  in 
Cupid  formi  overrun  the  background.  These  two 
pictures,  if  they  could  be  used  for  covers  on  fancy 
boxes,  would  hardly  induce  a  second  glance. 

There  is  a  delightful  old-world  picture  by  Cosimo 
Tura,  who  painted  in  Ferrara  somewhere  about 
1460,  called  the  Triumph  of  Venus.  It  is  in  the 
Schifanoia  Palace  in  Ferrara.  The  picture,  which 
is  of  long  and  low  proportions,  presents  two  shores, 
divided  by  a  river.  Down  this  river  sails  a  barque 


8o  Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

hung  with  scalloped  valances  and  drawn  by  two 
stately  swans.  On  this  barge  is  Venus  enthroned; 
Mars  is  kneeling  before  her.  She  is  clothed  as  most 
of  the  ladies  of  Ferrara  were  probably  dressed  when 
Cosimo  Tura  painted.  A  high-waisted  gown  floats 
to  her  feet,  and  she  holds  fruit  and  flowers  in  her 
hands.  The  knight  is  chained  to  her  footstool.  On 
the  shore  at  the  right  are  gathered  a  party  of  well- 
dressed  people  carrying  musical  instruments.  They 
surround  a  young  couple,  who,  kneeling  on  the 
sward,  are  exchanging  a  kiss.  In  the  background 
stand  the  three  Graces,  nude,  on  a  promontory.  At 
the  water's  edge  a  number  of  white  rabbits  are  sport- 
ing. On  the  left  shore  a  standing  couple  are  seen 
embracing,  and  others  sit  and  walk  about.  The 
costumes  are  delightful,  but  it  is  too  early  in  the 
Renaissance  for  anything  but  mediaeval  sentiment. 

In  the  Audience  Hall  of  the  Cambio  in  Perugia 
Perugino  has  painted,  among  these  little  frescoes 
which  impress  Vernon  Lee  as  "  so  many  ballets," 
a  Venus,  which  is  most  characteristic  of  the  artist 
in  his  usual  mannerisms.  The  figure  of  the  goddess 
is  seen  in  floating  draperies,  whirling  in  a  tremen- 
dous draught,  with  her  feet  in  what  the  dancing-mas- 
ters call  the  "  fifth  position ;  "  she  is  standing  on  a 
curious  little  car,  —  a  sort  of  buckboard  on  small 
wheels,  with  a  wrought  iron  seat  at  the  back,  and 
drawn  by  two  doves.  Cupid,  blindfold,  is  seen  dash- 


IDenus  HpbroMte  81 

ing  by  in  the  background,  with  his  bow  drawn  for 
action.  "  Venus,"  as  Vernon  Lee  says,  "  daintily 
poised  on  one  foot  on  her  dove-drawn  chariot,  the 
exquisite  Venus  in  her  clinging  veils,  conquering  the 
world  with  the  demure  gravity  and  adorable  prim- 
ness of  a  high-born  young  abbess." 

Rubens's  Festival  of  Venus  is  an  abandoned  scene 
of  wild  orgies  in  a  wood.  Venus  stands  alone  in  the 
centre  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  while  all  the  nymphs 
and  satyrs  of  the  grove  are  enjoying  themselves  in 
the  dance.  A  little  fire  is  burning  in  a  brazier  at  the 
feet  of  the  goddess ;  this  act  of  worship  is  supposed 
to  compensate  for  the  neglect  of  her  followers,  who 
are  in  pursuit  of  their  own  pleasure.  A  ruined  tem- 
ple and  fountain  are  seen  at  the  left;  Cupids  innu- 
merable are  floating  in  the  air. 

Cupid  is  the  hero  of  few  myths  independently 
of  his  mother.  Representations  of  him,  both  in 
Greek  and  modern  art,  are  usually  in  connection 
with  some  other  person's  affairs,  and,  as  such,  will 
be  noted  in  various  other  places.  There  are,  how- 
ever, a  few  statues  and  pictures  of  Cupid  for  his 
own  sake.  The  Cupid  of  Praxiteles  is  the  most  time- 
honoured  and  familiar  of  these,  and  sets  the  type  for 
most  serious  attempts  at  his  portrayal.  The  statue 
by  Michelangelo  in  the  South  Kensington  Museum, 
of  a  kneeling  Cupid  stringing  his  bow,  is  justly 
famous.  It  is  a  graceful,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 


82  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

virile  young  figure,  the  raised  arm  being  full  of 
strength  and  beauty.  An  old  fresco  in  Pompeii 
treats  a  series  of  Cupids  as  wine-sellers;  they 
are  in  a  cellar  among  the  wine-jugs,  one  of  which 
they  have  placed  upon  a  stand  so  that  they  may 
pour  from  it.  One  Cupid  is  filling  a  cup,  and 
one  is  handing  his  to  another ;  these  cups  are  round 
and  flat,  like  the  proverbial  "  wine-tasters  "  of  the 
Old  World.  These  little  Cupids  are  all  fitted  with 
fluttering  feather  wings,  and  stand  about  quite  in 
club-men's  attitudes. 

There  is  a  delightful  little  Cupid  by  Washington 
Allston  in  the  Boston  Art  Museum,  in  which  the 
figure  stands  with  his  back  nearly  turned,  and  is 
straining  to  lift  a  large  helmet.  In  this  rich  canvas 
the  blue  and  green  tones  predominate,  a  slight  red 
scarf  about  Cupid's  shoulder  being  the  only  warmer 
note.  The  drawing  of  the  sturdy  childish  figure  is 
pleasing. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  myths  in  connection 
with  Venus  is  her  love  for  Adonis.  Adonis  was  a 
fair  youth  with  a  rather  hazy  origin ;  legend  states 
that  he  was  born  from  a  tree,  and  that  he  was 
brought  up  by  the  wood-nymphs.  Bernardino 
Luini  has  interpreted  this  story  for  us  in  the  Brera 
in  Milan,  having  painted  a  truly  mythical  picture 
called  the  Birth  of  Adonis.  This  picture  combines 
in  a  rather  remarkable  way  the  mediaeval  with  the 


IDenus  Hpbrofcite  83 

Greek  form  of  treatment.  It  is  similar  in  many  ways 
to  paintings  at  Pompeii,  and  certain  other  Greek 
paintings  that  have  survived.  In  the  background  is 
seen  the  infant  Adonis  being  taken  from  the  tree- 
trunk  by  two  admiring  women,  while  two  others  are 
running  to  behold  the  miracle.  In  the  foreground, 
separated  from  the  scene  behind  by  a  river,  two 
figures  are  seated,  apparently  arguing.  These  may 
be  Adonis,  later  in  life,  being  wooed  by  Venus, 
although  the  personal  appearance  of  the  latter 
would  hardly  sanction  such  an  assumption.  More 
probably  the  scene  illustrates  his  education  among 
the  nymphs  as  he  approached  maturity.  The  picture 
has  great  quaintness,  and,  although  probably  an 
early  work  of  Luini,  exhibits  his  characteristic  crisp 
lines,  especially  in  the  foliage  and  in  the  hair. 

The  magical  effect  which  her  love  for  Adonis  had 
upon  Venus  reminds  us  of  similar  transformations 
which  occur  at  all  ages  among-  mortals.  Venus  had 
never,  up  to  this  time,  thought  of  anything  but  the 
development  of  her  own  charms,  the  beautifying  of 
her  person,  and  her  ease  and  luxury  in  Olympus. 
Now,  because  her  love  was  a  hunter,  she  came  upon 
earth,  and  spent  her  time  in  the  chase,  practically 
turning  Diana  for  the  nonce,  never  contented  except 
roaming  the  fields  and  hills  which  were  frequented 
by  the  beautiful  youth.  But  her  cautious  spirit 
made  her  fear  the  wilder  game,  and  she  constantly 


84  Classic  ribgtbs  in  Hrt 

warned  Adonis  to  beware  of  wolves  and  bears,  and 
not  to  pursue  the  more  dangerous  animals.  The 
huntsman,  however,  with  characteristic  indifference 
to  danger,  followed  such  game  as  happened  to  come 
his  way.  One  day  his  dogs  roused  a  wild  boar, 
while  Adonis  was  resting  in  the  sylvan  shade  with 
Venus.  Instantly  the  youth  sprang  up  to  follow. 
Venus  tried  to  restrain  him,  but  in  vain.  He  rushed 
after  his  hounds,  and  threw  his  javelin  at  the  boar, 
but  failed  to  wound  him  fatally;  the  infuriated 
beast  turned  upon  him,  and  killed  him,  burying  its 
tusks  in  the  side  of  the  lad.  Venus  wept  long  and 
bitterly.  Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis  is  full  of  her 
sorrow :  "  Woe,  woe  for  Cypris,  the  mountains 
all  are  saying;  and  the  oak-trees  answer,  Woe  for 
Adonis!  and  the  rivers  bewail  the  sorrows  of 
Aphrodite,  and  the  wells  are  weeping  Adonis  on  the 
mountains.  The  flowers  flush  red  for  anguish,  and 
Cytheria,  through  all  the  mountain-knees,  through 
every  dell,  doth  shrill  the  piteous  dirge :  Woe,  woe 
for  Cytheria,  he  hath  perished,  the  lovely  Adonis." 
The  scene  is  famous  in  literature  and  art.  All  are 
familiar  with  Shakespeare's  poem  of  Venus  and 
Adonis.  The  legend  goes  on :  "A  tear  the  Pa- 
phian  sheds  for  each  blood-drop  of  Adonis,  and  tears 
and  blood  on  the  earth  are  turned  to  flowers.  The 
blood  brings  forth  the  rose;  the  tears,  the  wind- 
flower." 


tfenus  Bpbrofcite  85 

There  is  a  fine  canvas  by  Rubens  in  the  Uffizi, 
representing  Adonis  refusing  to  be  detained  by 
Venus,  while  a  Fury  in  the  sky  above  is  pulling  at 
his  mantle.  The  scene  (in  a  grove)  is  somewhat 
inconsistent,  as  the  dogs  of  Adonis  are  quietly  play- 
ing with  Amorini  at  one  side,  instead  of  announcing 
the  arrival  of  the  boar.  The  three  Graces  are  also 
on  the  side  of  Venus,  beseeching  the  handsome 
youth  to  remain  with  the  goddess  of  love  instead  of 
leaving  her  for  the  chase.  It  is  one  of  the  noblest  of 
Rubens's  pictures  of  classic  subjects,  and  has  much 
of  the  light-hearted  spirit  of  youth  in  it.  Rubens 
generally  is  given  to  portraying  mature  people  in 
relating  classic  myths.  The  inconsequent  joyousness 
of  spring  is  thus  frequently  missed  in  his  compo- 
sitions. The  figure  of  Adonis  is  faultless,  and  that 
of  Venus  very  lovely.  The  Graces  show  rather 
more  of  the  overfed  characteristics  of  Rubens's 
women,  but  not  so  much  as  in  many  of  his  works. 
The  landscape  is  by  J.  Breughel. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  Venus  and  Adonis  by  Veronese, 
where  the  youth  is  seen  sleeping  in  an  abandoned 
and  unattractive  pose,  while  Venus,  supporting  his 
head  on  her  knee,  is  fanning  him  with  a  little  square 
Venetian  fan.  A  Cupid  is  holding  the  dogs  back 
so  that  they  may  not  disturb  the  sleeper.  Venus  is 
looking  out  from  the  canvas  in  a  confidential  way,  at 
the  spectator,  as  one  who  gloats  over  a  possession, 


86  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Htt 

and  is  anxious  for  sympathy.  Adonis  is  hers  while 
he  lies  asleep,  at  least  —  he  will  not  leave  her  until 
he  wakes! 

Caracci's  Venus  with  the  dead  Adonis,  in  the  Cor- 
sini  Gallery,  is  interesting,  as  representing  Venus  as 
a  more  mature  woman  than  she  usually  appears  in 
art.  She  is  weeping,  and  her  brow  is  drawn  with 
really  human  woe.  The  body  of  the  dead  youth  is 
a  very  lovely  piece  of  painting  in  its  school.  The 
god  of  love  is  gazing  over  the  shoulder  of  Venus, 
weeping  and  wringing  his  hands  in  sorrow.  A  real 
sentiment  of  grief  has  taken  self -consciousness  away 
from  the  goddess  of  pleasure;  human  pain  has  its 
message  for  her  too. 

In  the  Bargello  in  Florence  is  a  recumbent  statue 
of  Adonis  usually  ascribed  to  Michelangelo.  The 
wounded  and  dying  youth  lies  twisted  with  pain, 
his  hand  behind  his  head.  A  deep  wound  is  in  his 
thigh,  which  does  not,  however,  suggest  a  necessarily 
fatal  thrust,  judging  from  its  situation.  The  figure 
lacks  that  convincing  power  of  sinew  and  muscle 
which  would  prove  it  to  be  the  undoubted  work  of 
Michelangelo.  It  is  too  passive  in  spite  of  the  dis- 
tortions. It  is  holding  a  pose  rather  than  presenting 
a  transition  of  feeling. 

Titian,  too,  painted  a  Venus  and  Adonis.  Venus, 
seen  with  her  back  to  the  spectator,  is  trying  to  hold 
Adonis  from  going  to  his  doom,  while  he,  with  his 


IDenus  Hpbrofcite  87 

dogs  in  leash,  refuses  to  be  detained.  This  is  one  of 
the  few  instances  where  Titian  has  treated  a  given 
theme  less  acceptably  than  Rubens.  Far  away  a 
little  vision  is  shown  of  the  death  of  the  poor  Adonis. 
This  picture  is  in  Madrid,  where  it  was  sent  to  King 
Philip  II.  He  wrote,  "  The  Adonis  has  arrived, 
but  so  ill-treated  that  it  must  be  repaired,  having  a 
long  fold  across  the  middle  of  the  canvas."  This 
injury  is  still  traceable. 

There  is  a  large  Death  of  Adonis  in  the  Uffizi, 
generally  ascribed  to  Moretto,  which  Morelli  gives 
to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo. 


CHAPTER   V. 

i 

APOLLO     AND    THE     MUSES 

APOLLO,  being  the  god  of  the  sun,  of  light  and 
radiance,  is  usually  depicted  as  beautiful  in  person, 
and  has  come  to  be  recognized  also  as  the  god  of 
beauty,  as  Venus  has  become  the  goddess  of 
beauty.  He,  too,  is  the  presiding  genius  over  har- 
mony, and  often  is  painted  in  company  with  the 
Muses,  epitomizing  what,  in  our  day,  we  call  the 
"  artistic  temperament."  In  the  Homeric  Hymn  to 
the  Delian  Apollo,  he  is  made  to  say,  almost  imme- 
diately after  his  birth,  "  Give  me  a  sweet-sounding 
lyre  and  a  curved  bow,  and  my  oracle  shall  make 
known  unto  men  the  true  wishes  of  Zeus." 

As  the  sun-god,  Apollo  has  been  beautifully 
figured  by  numerous  artists  of  the  Renaissance. 
Milton,  in  "  Comus,"  mentions  the  car  of  the  sun- 
god: 

"  Now  the  gilded  car  of  day 
His  golden  axle  doth  allay 
In  the  deep  Atlantic  stream," 
88 


Bpollo  anfc  tbe  /IDuses  89 

and  speaks  of  Apollo 


"  Pacing  towards  the  other  goal 
Of  his  chamber  in  the  East." 


Apollo  is  also  protector  of  shepherds  and  seamen. 
In  his  pastoral  character  he  occurs  frequently  in  art. 
In  the  early  Dorian  representations  of  Apollo,  he 
wears  long  hair,  and  is  much  of  an  athlete.  The 
Homeric  Hymn  describes  him  thus :  "  The  god  was 
like  unto  a  man  of  full  sap  and  vigour  in  all  the  bril- 
liancy of  young  manhood,  and  over  his  broad  shoul- 
ders streamed  the  loosed  locks."  During  the  archaic 
period  he  was  thus  represented.  A  number  of  small 
votive  bronzes  in  different  museums  are  usually 
supposed  to  represent  Apollo ;  there  is  one  in  Berlin 
with  the  inscription :  "  Dienagoras  dedicated  me  to 
Apollo  the  Far-darter."  A  little  later  it  became  cus- 
tomary to  clothe  the  figures  of  Apollo,  like  the 
Apollo  Musagetes  in  the  Vatican,  who  might  easily, 
in  his  long  flowing  draperies,  with  high  belt,  be 
taken  for  one  of  the  Muses  themselves.  Praxiteles 
presented  still  another  type  in  his  turn,  —  a  slender, 
nude  boy,  charmingly  graceful,  as  in  the  Apollo 
Sauroktonos  in  the  Vatican.  He  is  leaning  carelessly 
with  one  hand  against  a  tree-trunk,  while  with  the 
other  hand  he  aims  a  light  missile  at  a  lizard  which 
is  crawling  up  the  bark.  His  features  are  relaxed 


90  Classic  fl&stbs  in  art 

in  a  whimsical  smile;    the  dignity  of  the  god  is 
merged  in  the  human. 

Generally  acknowledged  as  the  masterpiece  among 
Greek  statues  of  Apollo  is  the  Apollo  Belvedere  of 
the  Vatican.  The  hand  which  is  extended  is  sup- 
posed by  some  to  have  held  the  bow,  from  which 
the  arrow  has  just  been  sped.  The  hand  which  was 
missing,  when  the  statue  was  found,  has  been  re- 
stored according  to  this  theory.  The  question  has 
been  raised,  however,  as  to  whether  Apollo  might 
have  carried  in  that  hand  the  shield  bearing  the  Gor- 
gon's head.  The  famous  statue,  in  any  case,  is  a 
Roman  copy  of  the  great  original,  which  was  exe- 
cuted in  the  third  century  B.  c.  Accepting  either  of 
these  theories  regarding  the  use  of  the  missing  hand, 
the  statue  shows  the  young  deity  in  his  war-like  as- 
pect. He  was  intended  to  exhibit,  in  his  facial  ex- 
pression, anger  and  contempt;  and  as  the  artist 
wished  him  to  retain  his  perfect  beauty  in  spite 
of  this  manifestation,  he  indicated  anger  only 
in  the  curling  dilated  nostril,  and  has  expressed 
contempt  by  a  slight  raising  of  the  chin  and 
lower  lip.  He  is  supposed  to  have  just  slain  the 
great  serpent,  Python.  The  myth  of  Apollo  kill- 
ing Python  is  related  by  Ovid;  he  thus  apostro- 
phizes the  creature :  "  Thou,  unheard-of  serpent, 
wast  a  source  of  terror  to  this  new  race  of  men, 
so  vast  a  part  of  the  mountain  did  thou  occupy ! " 


Hpollo  ant)  tbe  /Buses  91 

Ovid  relates  that  "  the  god  that  bears  the  bow 
.  .  .  overwhelmed  him  with  a  thousand  ar- 
rows. .  .  ."  So  perished  the  monster  that  had 
been  troubling  humanity.  The  symbolism  of  this 
mytfc  is  pointed  out  by  Ruskin :  "  Apollo's  contest 
with  Python  is  the  strife  of  purity  with  pollution; 
of  life  with  forgetfulness ;  of  love  with  the  grave." 

Apollo  Belvedere  has  been  criticized  as  being  a 
little  too  elegant ;  suited  to  the  flowery  taste  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Taine  speaks  of  his  aristocratic 
appearance :  "  The  attitude  reminds  us  of  a  young 
lord,"  says  Taine,  "  repelling  somebody  that  troubled 
him.  This  Apollo  certainly  displays  savoir-vivre, 
also  consciousness  of  his  rank.  I  am  sure  he  has  a 
crowd  of  domestics !  " 

In  a  fourth-century  painting  found  in  the  baths 
of  Constantine,  the  Pythian  Apollo,  with  his  bow 
in  one  hand,  and  his  arrow  in  the  other,  is  shown, 
a  full-length  figure  of  slim,  graceful  proportions. 

Apollo  matching  in  contest  his  "  golden  lyre 
giving  forth  dulcet  sounds  beneath  the  bow,"  with 
the  flute  of  the  satyr  Marsyas,  is  a  favourite  subject 
among  artists. 

Marsyas  (some  say  that  it  was  Pan  himself)  had 
the  temerity  to  propose  a  musical  competition  be- 
tween himself  and  Apollo.  After  humbling  him  in 
the  contest,  as  the  god  of  music  of  course  could  do, 


9*  Classic  /iD\ni>s  fn  Brt 

Apollo  undertook  to  manifest  his  godlike  qualities 
further  by  flaying  his  adversary. 

The  semi-mediaeval  treatment  of  pictures  of  classic 
scenes,  to  which  allusion  has  already  been  made,  is 
most  evident  in  the  case  of  the  Apollo  and  Marsyas 
in  the  Louvre,  long  given  to  Raphael,  but  now  often 
thought  to  be  the  work  of  Pinturicchio.  Morelli 
gives  this  picture  to  Perugino.  The  drawing  for  it  is 
in  the  Venice  Academy,  under  the  name  of  Raphael. 
"  This  piping  Marsyas  seated  by  the  tree-stump," 
says  Vernon  Lee,  "  this  naked  Apollo,  thin  and  hec- 
tic, like  an  undressed  archangel,  standing  against  the 
Umbrian  valley  with  its  distant  blue  hills,  its  cas- 
tellated villages,  its  delicate  thinly-leaved  trees,  .  .  . 
all  this  is  as  little  like  Ovid  as  the  triumphant  antique 
Galatea  of  Raphael  is  like  Spenser." 

Marsyas,  a  satyr,  or  rather  a  Silenus,  was  the  per- 
sonification of  a  little  stream  in  Phrygia. 

Correggio's  Apollo  and  Marsyas  in  St.  Petersburg 
takes  the  form  of  a  landscape  divided  into  two 
scenes.  First,  at  the  right,  the  musical  contest  be- 
tween the  god  and  the  mortal  is  seen.  In  another 
group,  Apollo  is  seen  flaying  Marsyas  in  the  usual 
manner,  holding  him  by  one  ear,  while  he  menaces 
him  with  the  knife ;  the  draperies  are  all  cast  aside, 
and  the  broken  flute  and  Apollo's  violin  lie  upon  the 
ground.  This  picture  was  painted  for  the  cover  of 


Hpollo  ant>  tbe  /ID  use  a  93 

a.  clavichord,  and  is  somewhat  triangular  in  its 
shape  at  the  left  side. 

Unfortunately  the  very  unpleasant  flaying  of  the 
defeated  Marsyas  is  extremely  popular  in  art.  The 
Apollo  and  Marsyas  of  Guido  Reni  in  Munich,  would 
be  horrible  if  it  were  not  grotesque.  As  it  is,  the 
incident  is  a  thoroughly  unpleasant  one  to  portray. 
Sir  Charles  Eastlake  denounces  it  thus :  "  Apollo, 
whose  form  is  distinguished  by  chalky  flesh-tones, 
stretches  himself  diagonally  across  the  canvas,  in 
order  to  kneel  on  the  abdomen  of  Marsyas,  for  the 
apparent  purpose  of  commencing  operations  by 
dissecting  his  biceps.  This  Marsyas  naturally  resents, 
and,  throwing  his  arms  about  like  the  sails  of  a 
windmill,  yells,  with  a  horrible  grimace." 

At  the  Villa  Aldobrandini,  Domenichino  painted 
frescoes  relating  stories  of  Apollo  and  the  Muses, 
and  also  his  punishment  of  Marsyas,  which,  as  Doc- 
tor Moore  justly  observes,  "  does  no  honour  to 
Apollo.  Marsyas  was,  unquestionably,  an  object  of 
contempt  and  ridicule  on  account  of  his  presumption, 
but  the  punishment  said  to  have  been  inflicted  upon 
him  exceeds  all  bounds,  and  renders  the  inflicter 
more  detestable  in  our  eyes  than  the  insolent  satyr 
himself." 

Donatello  restored  an  antique  white  marble  figure 
of  Marsyas,  but  there  is  some  doubt  whether  it  is 


94  Classic  fltytbs  in  Hrt 

the  one  now  in  the  Uffizi,  for  the  work  is  rather 
inferior. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  copy  of  Rubens,  representing 
Apollo  conquering  Marsyas  in  musical  contest; 
among  these  copies  also  is  one  of  Apollo  pursuing 
Daphne.  In  Dresden  is  a  painting  of  Apollo  and 
Marsyas  by  Langhetti,  and  in  the  Pitti  Palace  are 
two,  one  by  Guercino  and  one  by  Biliverti  —  all 
equally  unpleasant. 

Another  more  attractive  legend  in  connection  with 
Apollo  is  his  love  for  the  wood-nymph  Daphne, 
daughter  of  a  river-god.  The  beginning  of  this  love 
is  told  by  Ovid.  Cupid  had  been  strutting  before 
Apollo,  and  Apollo  had  reproved  him,  asking  him, 
what  such  a  mere  "  wanton  boy  "  wanted  of  such 
"gallant  arms."  Then  Cupid  took  his  revenge; 
he  "  drew  two  weapons  out  of  his  arrow-bearing 
quiver,  of  different  workmanship,  the  one  repels, 
the  other  excites  desire.  That  which  causes  love 
is  of  gold,  and  is  brilliant,  with  a  sharp  point;  that 
which  repels  it  is  blunt,  and  contains  lead  beneath  the 
reed.  This  one  the  god  fixed  in  the  nymph ;  but  with 
the  other  he  wounded  the  very  marrow  of  Apollo 
.  .  .  immediately  the  one  is  in  love,  the  other  flies 
from  the  very  name  of  a  lover."  We  all  know  how 
the  story  ended  —  the  god  with  many  entreaties  pur- 
sued the  poor  nymph,  until  her  strength  was  spent; 
then,  praying  to  Nature  to  protect  her,  she  was 


BERNINI APOLLO    AND    DAPHNE. 


Hpollo  an&  tbe  flDuses  95 

turned  gradually  into  a  laurel-tree  before  the  very 
eyes  of  her  adorer ;  could  a  more  tantalizing  scheme 
be  planned?  Apollo,  distressed,  and  yet  bound  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  exclaimed,  "  Since  thou  canst  not 
be  my  wife,  at  least  thou  shalt  be  my  tree ;  my  hair, 
my  lyre,  my  quiver,  shall  always  have  thee,  oh, 
Laurel!" 

Of  the  Apollo  and  Daphne  by  Bernini  in  the  Bor* 
ghese  Gallery,  Doctor  Moore  expresses  himself,  con- 
trasting it  with  the  method  in  which  an  ancient  artist 
would  have  treated  the  same  subject.  Doctor  Moore 
criticizes  it  as  being  "  deficient  in  simplicity,"  saying 
that  Apollo  is  running  with  "  affected  graces,"  and 
his  astonishment  at  seeing  the  transformation  of 
Daphne  "  is  not  naturally  expressed,  but  seems  rather 
the  exaggerated  astonishment  of  an  actor."  While 
he  admires  the  actual  sculpture  of  both  face  and  form 
of  Daphne,  Doctor  Moore  considers  that  her  face 
is  too  much  distorted  by  fear,  to  the  sacrifice  of 
beauty.  He  says  that  "  an  ancient  artist  would  have 
made  her  less  afraid,  that  she  might  have  been  more 
beautiful."  Of  course  this  is  not  the  criticism  of  a 
modern  realist ;  but  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  the 
Greek  ideal  of  repose  has  been  admired  in  all  periods. 

In  the  Brera  Gallery  in  Milan  is  a  fresco  by  Luini, 
of  Apollo  sitting  melancholy  by  the  side  of  a  brook, 
watching  Daphne  turn  into  a  tree  on  the  opposite 
bank,  while  her  father,  the  aged  water-divinity,  has 


96  Classic  fl&ptbs  in  Bet 

come  up  out  of  the  stream  at  his  feet,  and  is  reading 
Apollo  a  lesson,  "  pointing  "  the  "  heads  "  of  his 
discourse  with  thumb  and  finger.  Daphne,  half- 
enveloped  in  bark,  has  one  free  hand  still,  with  which 
she  bids  her  precipitate  wooer  a  long  farewell. 

The  Apollo  and  Daphne  of  Giorgione  in  Venice 
is  primarily  a  landscape,  with  Apollo  chasing  Daphne 
across  a  clearing.  There  is  a  bridge  across  a  river 
at  the  left.  Morelli  pronounces  this  the  work  of 
Giorgione,  while  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  ascribe 
it  to  Schiavone.  It  is  much  spoiled  by  restora- 
tions. 

An  Apollo  and  Daphne  in  the  Corsini  Gallery  in 
Florence  is  an  oil  painting  on  wood,  and  touched 
here  and  there  with  gold.  The  handling  is  careful 
and  delicate.  The  costumes  are  fanciful,  reminding 
one  of  the  pictures  of  Piero  di  Cosimo,  while  there 
are  parts  of  it  like  the  work  of  Del  Sarto.  Some 
critics  consider  it  an  early  work  of  the  latter. 

The  story  of  Apollo  and  Daphne  evidently  grew 
up  through  the  observation  of  the  natural  phenome- 
non of  the  sun's  effect  upon  the  dew.  The  sun's 
pursuit  makes  the  dew  fly;  but  when  it  has  so  flown, 
vegetation  is  produced. 

Apollo,  as  Helios,  or  the  sun-god,  is  usually  pre- 
ceded in  his  flight  through  the  ether  by  Aurora,  the 
goddess  of  the  dawn,  and  sister  of  Apollo.  The 
early  Italo-Greek  vase  paintings  show  Aurora  herself 


Hpollo  ant>  tbe  /iDuses  97 

in  a  car  like  that  of  Apollo,  going  before  him.  In 
later  art,  she  usually  flies. 

Guido  Reni's  Aurora  is  so  well  known  that  a 
description  of  it  seems  almost  superfluous.  The 
golden-haired  sun-god  is  seated  in  his  chariot,  drawn 
by  prancing  horses,  surrounded  by  the  graceful 
figures  of  the  Hours,  while  Aurora,  not  in  a  car  in 
this  instance,  but  flying,  precedes  him,  strewing 
flowers  with  both  hands.  The  warm  glow  of  the 
colour  of  sunrise  is  caught,  and  the  sea  gives  depth 
to  the  distant  horizon  line.  Of  the  figure  of  Aurora, 
Fuseli  remarks :  "  She  deserves  to  precede  a  more 
majestic  sun,  and  Hours  less  clumsy." 

Guercino's  Aurora  on  the  ceiling  in  the  Villa 
Ludovisi  is  represented  as  a  young  and  vigorous 
woman,  with  almost  the  proportions  of  a  peasant. 
She  is  in  her  car,  which  is  quite  wonderfully  fore- 
shortened, so  that  in  looking  up  from  below,  the 
chariot  really  seems  to  be  going  through  the  air 
above  one's  head.  No  effort  at  this  illusion  is  made 
in  Guido  Reni's  Aurora,  which  is  a  picture  with  an 
"  up  and  down  "  to  it,  like  any  picture  intended  to  be 
seen  on  a  wall.  In  the  case  of  Guercino's  Aurora, 
the  composition  is  more  original  and  more  consistent. 
Old  Tithonus  lies  half-enveloped  in  his  coverings, 
which  are  being  raised  by  a  Cupid.  Another  Cupid 
is  playing  with  a  basket  of  flowers.  The  chariot  is 
preceded  by  three  nymphs  of  the  Dawn,  on  a  cloud ; 


9§  Classic  flDvtbs  in  Hrt 

three  young  and  joyous  maidens,  still  in  advance  of 
these  others,  are  extinguishing  the  stars  as  they 
proceed  upon  their  course.  The  morning  light  is 
seen  upon  their  faces.  One  can  see  the  deep  blue 
tones  of  the  distant  sea  beyond  the  mists  and  clouds. 
Guercino's  figures  are  much  alive.  They  have  not 
always  beauty,  but  usually  virility.  Aurora  is  not 
clothed  according  to  any  Greek  ideals,  but  rather 
according  to  the  Renaissance  interpretation  of  classic 
costume.  Her  horses  are  two  dashing  piebald  steeds, 
with  flashing  eyes.  A  Cupid  is  about  to  crown 
Aurora  with  a  floral  wreath.  Her  face  is  refined, 
although  her  general  build,  seen  at  the  necessarily 
trying  angle  from  below,  is  a  trifle  coarse. 

The  Aurora  of  Giovanni  Luteri  in  the  Estensi 
Castle  in  Ferrara,  is  a  small  panel  in  the  midst  of 
much  ceiling  of  a  riotous  style  of  Renaissance  stucco. 
The  fresco  does  not  indicate  much  thought  upon  the 
subject.  Aurora,  crowned  with  a  simple  wreath  of 
symmetrical  roses,  leads  by  their  bridles  the  four 
horses  of  the  sun-chariot.  As  she  is  seen  in  front 
view,  the  four  horses  simply  act  as  a  background 
for  her  figure,  and  no  more  is  visible  beyond.  On 
the  right  are  certain  mythological  personages 
grouped  together,  but  not  well  differentiated. 

In  the  ceiling  of  the  Sala  del  Cambio  in  Perugia, 
Perugino's  figure  of  Apollo  is  seen  driving  along 
in  his  chariot  drawn  by  four  vari-coloured  horses. 


Spollo  an&  tbe  flDuses  99 

The  god  is  going  at  great  speed,  balancing  him- 
self with  care,  while  the  reins  curl  in  the  wind. 
Apollo  is  young,  and  very  slender;  the  head  is 
quite  classic,  probably  the  result  of  study  of  Greek 
models. 

Among  Giulio  Romano's  frescoes  at  the  Palazzo 
del  Te  in  Mantua  there  is  one  which  shows  Phoebus 
rising  between  distant  hills  in  his  sun-chariot,  while 
a  nude  Zephyr  lies  among  the  clouds  playing  upon 
pipes.  There  are  four  horses  attached  to  the  car  of 
Apollo. 

The  Apollo  of  Raphael,  in  his  "  Days,"  is  the 
deity  selected  for  Sunday,  and  is  seen  in  his  four- 
horse  chariot,  on  which  is  wrought  a  series  of  reliefs 
of  the  nine  Muses  in  a  dance.  The  sun-god  leans  for- 
ward, placing  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  car,  while 
with  the  other  he  holds  the  reins.  The  figure  is  not 
accurately  drawn,  and  cannot  well  be  the  work  of 
Raphael. 

On  a  ceiling  in  Venice,  Vasari  and  Christofano 
Gheradi  painted  an  Aurora,  the  car  in  which  she 
rides  being  drawn  by  cocks,  in  recognition  of  the 
early  call  of  that  bird. 

Among  such  subjects  as  the  Aurora  may  be  in- 
cluded the  "  Day  "  of  Giorgio  Vasari,  in  the  Colonna 
Gallery  in  Rome.  It  represents  a  really  Greek  god- 
dess of  dawn,  being  waked  from  her  slumbers  by 
Cupid,  who  holds  in  his  hands  a  sheaf  of  arrows. 


too  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

This  is  perhaps  as  acceptable  as  any  of  Vasari's  pic- 
tures, —  he  was  a  better  writer  than  he  was  painter, 
and  he  gossiped  better  than  he  drew.  At  the  left 
are  to  be  seen  a  couple  of  masks,  and  Cupid's  bow, 
leaning  against  a  small  stand  on  which  is  a  basket 
of  fruit. 

Apollo  is  always  associated  with  the  Muses,  who, 
nine  in  number,  preside  over  most  of  the  arts  of 
literature  and  music.  Each  has  a  special  attribute, 
and  they  occur  continually  in  art,  by  themselves,  or 
in  groups,  dancing  with  Apollo,  to  whom  they  must 
have  been  especially  congenial. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  specimens  of  early  art 
is  a  portrait  of  the  Muse  Polyhymnia.  It  is  an 
ancient  Greek  painting,  one  of  the  few  surviving 
examples  of  this  branch  of  classic  art,  and  is  rendered 
in  wax  medium  on  slate.  Of  these  early  efforts 
Fuseli  speaks  appreciatively,  when  he  says  in  his 
"  Lectures  on  Ancient  Art,"  that  "  Greek  art  had  her 
infancy,  but  the  Graces  rocked  the  cradle,  and  Love 
taught  her  to  speak."  The  vehicle  used  by  the 
Greeks,  known  as  Punic  wax,  was  ordinary  yellow 
wax,  boiled  three  times  in  sea-water  and  nitre,  to 
bleach  it,  and  was  used  somewhat  as  the  moderns 
use  oil.  The  history  of  this  special  picture  is  ro- 
mantic. It  is  known  as  the  Muse  of  Cortona,  and 
is  in  the  museum  there.  During  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, a  peasant  found  it  in  his  farm  when  he  was 


GREEK    PAINTING.  —  MUSE   OF   CORTONA. 


Bpollo  an&  tbe  flDuses  xoi 

ploughing*.  Supposing  it  to  be  a  picture  of  the 
Madonna,  he  took  it  home,  and  placed  it  in  a  con- 
spicuous space  on  his  wall.  The  priest,  however,  told 
him  that,  far  from  being  a  religious  picture,  it  was  a 
painting  by  some  irreligious  hand,  and  was  an  idol. 
Fearing  that  he  might  be  causing  displeasure  to 
Heaven  by  harbouring  it,  he  then  used  it,  as  he  con- 
sidered most  appropriately,  by  stopping  a  hole  in  his 
oven  with  the  slate.  Later  it  was  discovered  in  this 
position,  and  after  various  vicissitudes,  became 
recognized  as  one  of  the  greatest  treasures  of  art, 
and  has  ever  since  been  safely  lodged  in  the  museum. 
The  wax  medium  in  which  it  was  painted  is  so  re- 
markably permanent  that  it  has  suffered  very  few 
injuries.  It  is  an  example  of  the  finest  period  of 
Greek  painting,  and  the  artist  must  have  known 
something  of  the  practices  of  their  greatest  artist, 
Zeuxis,  for  the  relief  and  modelling  are  wonderfully 
fine.  The  flesh-tints  have  survived,  and  the  atmos- 
phere is  charming.  The  portrait  is  of  a  young  girl, 
seen  nearly  to  the  waist,  nude  except  for  a  filmy  scarf 
which  crosses  her  breast.  Her  head  is  crowned  with 
laurel.  The  face  is  distinctly  classical  in  line,  — 
the  long  straight  nose,  the  square  brows,  and  firm 
chin,  beneath  a  conventional  mouth,  suggest  the 
same  type  as  that  of  most  of  the  well-known  Greek 
statues  of  about  the  same  period.  The  eyelids  are 
rather  long  and  drooping,  and  the  eyes  look  out  from 


io*  Classic  fl&Etbs  in  Hrt 

the  picture  rather  below  the  level  of  the  eye  of  the 
spectator,  giving  an  abstracted  air  of  contemplation. 
Altogether  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
unique  possessions  of  the  art  world. 

Giulio  Romano's  dainty  little  panel  which  hangs 
in  the  Pitti  Palace,  shows  the  dance  of  Apollo  and 
the  Muses.  Formed  in  a  circle,  holding  hands,  they 
conform  to  a  simple  and  recognized  method  of  danc- 
ing: 

"The  Muses  there  a  lovely  choir,  advance 
With  tender  feet  to  form  the  skilful  dance." 

—  HESIOD. 

Apollo  himself  is  the  central  figure,  with  his 
quiver  and  bow  slung  across  his  back,  and  a  chaplet 
of  laurel  on  his  head.  The  skirt  of  his  tunic  is  shorter 
than  those  of  the  other  nine  figures,  and  he  wears 
buskins.  The  Muses  are  not  distinguished  by  their 
special  emblems,  but  their  names  appear  in  impres- 
sionist Greek  on  a  scroll  of  ribbon  along  the  fore- 
ground of  the  panel.  First,  at  the  right  hand  of 
Apollo  (the  left  of  the  picture,  observe),  is  Mel- 
pomene, the  Muse  of  Tragedy;  next  to  her  comes 
Clio,  the  Muse  of  History.  At  the  end  is  the  Muse 
of  Epic  Poetry,  Calliope;  while,  holding  her  hand, 
and  turning  the  circle,  with  her  back  to  the  spectator, 
but  facing  Apollo,  is  the  Muse  of  Love  Poetry, 
Erato.  She  is  the  only  one  distinguished  by  her 


X 


Hpollo  anb  tbe  fl&uses  103 

head-dress.  Terpsichore,  who  presides  over  the 
dance,  comes  next,  occupying  the  space  nearest  the 
centre,  opposite  Apollo.  Her  back  is  most  graceful, 
and  she  is  a  fit  exponent  of  her  art.  Next  to  her  is 
the  Muse  of  Sacred  Poetry,  Polyhymnia,  dancing 
with  a  rather  sober  step,  and  she  is  followed  by  the 
stately  Urania,  Muse  of  Astronomy,  who  is  poised 
almost  without  action,  and  whose  glance  is  far  away. 
She  is  at  the  other  extreme  end.  Her  hand  grasps 
that  of  Thalia,  Muse  of  Comedy,  while  Euterpe,  the 
Muse  of  Lyric  Poetry,  connects  the  circle  again  with 
Apollo,  holding  his  left  hand.  Apollo's  glance  is 
turned  toward  this  group  at  the  right  of  the  picture, 
and  on  his  own  left. 

The  celebrated  antique  statues  of  the  Muses  in  the 
Vatican  are  familiar  to  all  art-lovers. 

Parnassus  was  the  mount  sacred  to  Apollo  and  the 
Muses,  where  poetry  and  music  held  symposiums; 
as  a  theme  it  has  inspired  many  artists.  Only  a  few 
of  the  more  celebrated  pictures  of  Parnassus  can  be 
mentioned  here.  First,  of  course,  comes  that  of 
Raphael,  in  the  Vatican ;  the  glowing  fresco  replete 
with  beauty.  The  crowned  divinity  playing  on  his 
quaint  viol,  is  as  well  known  as  most  of  Raphael's 
Madonnas.  Criticism  might  be  made  upon  the  fact 
that  Apollo  is  not  performing  upon  his  famous  lyre ; 
but  the  fact  is,  this  was  a  personal  idiosyncrasy  of 
Raphael,  who  had  been  so  ravished  with  delight  at 


104  Classic  ribgtbs  tn  Hrt 

hearing  a  celebrated  violinist  of  his  day,  that  he  de- 
cided that  it  was  the  fitting  instrument  to  place  in  the 
hands  of  the  god  of  music.  The  Muses  sit  about  in 
rapt  attention;  all  hold  their  musical  instruments 
in  quiet  awe,  not  venturing  to  add  to  the  celestial 
melody.  The  great  poets  of  early  and  later  times 
are  seen,  —  Sappho,  the  Lesbian  singer,  whose  soul 
was  shaken  by  Eros,  "  as  a  wind  on  the  mountain 
falling  upon  the  oaks,"  sits  with  her  script  and  lyre 
at  the  lower  left  side.  Raphael's  Parnassus  is  an 
interesting  alliance  between  modern  and  ancient  feel- 
ing. Here  we  see  the  ancient  poets  of  Greece  and  the 
modern  Italians ;  we  find  people  of  varying  periods 
in  history,  all  in  harmony.  Much  of  the  fresco  might 
be  a  Greek  picture ;  the  antique  spirit  is  so  fused  with 
modern  feeling  that  the  two  are  inseparable.  This  is 
what  makes  it  an  immortal  work.  The  lasting  ele- 
ment —  the  eternal  quality  —  which  recognizes 
neither  past  nor  present,  except  to  weld  them  irrev- 
ocably together  with  the  stroke  of  Genius,  —  this 
is  the  truest  manifestation  of  harmony.  The  figures 
of  the  three  goddesses  seated  before  Parnassus  taken 
as  a  group,  together  with  the  three  children,  are 
worthy  of  Greece  in  its  palmy  days ;  they  are  super- 
human, and  deserve  to  rank  among  the  immortals. 
Parallels  have  been  drawn  between  Raphael  and 
Spenser.  When  one  first  reads  Spenser,  one  may  find 
him  unreal  and  dull ;  but  when  once  he  is  understood, 


Bpollo  an&  tbe  flDuses  105 

and  one  enters  into  the  spirit  of  the  poem,  the  im- 
possible becomes  transfigured  into  the  miraculous, 
and  what  at  first  seemed  formal  and  heavy  becomes 
a  shroud  of  fascinating  mystery.  In  his  Parnassus 
Raphael  has  given  suitable  personal  forms  to  ab- 
stract elements  of  learning.  Instead  of  ideas  ex- 
pressed in  literary  language,  he  has  given  action  and 
living  human  passions. 

There  is  a  clever  little  picture  by  Schiavone  in 
Munich,  illustrating  the  symposium  on  Parnassus. 
Apollo  is  surrounded  by  the  Muses  and  the  great 
painters.  A  youth  is  listening,  writing  their  words 
in  a  book.  Another  youth  stands  playing  a  horn 
on  the  right.  Genii  float  around  the  three  laurel- 
trees,  with  wreaths.  The  drawing  is  rather  like  a 
study  of  the  Roman  school,  but  the  colouring  is  quite 
Venetian.  Touches  of  gold  are  used  with  good 
effect. 

The  Parnassus  of  Raphael  Mengs  is  statuesque 
in  its  poses,  but  has  the  effect  of  a  stage  tableau. 
Apollo,  in  the  centre,  is  crowned  with  laurel,  and, 
holding  his  lyre,  stands  in  a  graceful  attitude  with 
one  hand  raised  as  if  leading  an  orchestra.  The  nine 
Muses  are  grouped  about  him.  Some  dance;  some 
declaim;  Urania  astronomizes  on  a  large  globe  in 
the  foreground,  with  her  face  turned  heavenward. 
The  whole  is  pleasing,  and  the  action  of  each  figure 


io6  Classic  nDPtbs  in  Hrt 

carefully  considered  according  to  her  accepted  char- 
acter. 

Tintoretto's  Parnassus  in  Dresden  is  a  very  beau- 
tiful, but  not  a  restful,  rendering  of  the  subject. 
Each  Muse  is  at  a  different  angle  from  any  other,  as 
they  strain  their  graceful  bodies  in  contortions  for 
no  apparent  reason,  as  they  are  not  dancing.  A 
rather  fanciful  Apollo,  with  his  viol  beside  him,  hov- 
ers in  the  air  almost  like  an  Amorino.  But  the  beauty 
of  the  poses  of  the  daughters  of  song  cannot  be 
denied,  and  the  whole  is  an  exquisite  vibrating  lyric 
of  the  flesh ;  the  intellectual  appeal  is  not  made. 

Apollo,  however,  is  not  always  the  leading 
"  hero,"  so  to  speak,  of  Parnassus.  In  a  highly 
decorative  and  beautifully  handled  picture  by  Man- 
tegna  in  the  Louvre,  Apollo  is  seated  quite  away  at 
the  left,  humbly  playing  for  the  Muses  to  dance. 
On  a  rocky  arched  central  peak  of  the  sacred  mount, 
Venus,  entirely  nude,  has  just  risen  from  a  seat 
which  she  has  been  occupying  with  Mars,  who,  in 
full  armour,  stands  close  to  her,  bidding  her  a  dis- 
creet farewell.  Cupid,  on  their  left,  makes  a  sign 
to  Vulcan,  whose  forge  is  further  down  the  hill,  to 
observe  his  wife  and  the  gay  young  war-god ;  Vul- 
can is  in  the  act  of  coming  out  in  great  anger.  At 
the  right  of  the  picture  is  seen  Mercury,  with  a  long 
caduceus,  holding  Pegasus,  who  is  airing  his  wings 
for  flight.  Two  of  the  Muses  are  turning  to  cast 


Hpollo  airt>  tbe  jflDuses  107 

smiling  glances  at  Mercury.  Probably  they  are 
Thalia  and  Terpsichore,  as  these  would  be  rather 
more  frivolous  than  their  sisters.  There  is  a 
delicious  mediaeval  flavour  left  in  this  picture,  which, 
nevertheless,  has  a  good  deal  of  classic  knowledge 
displayed  in  the  draperies  and  in  several  of  the 
accessories. 

There  is  a  pleasing  picture  by  Perino  del  Vaga, 
of  the  Muses  meeting  the  Pierides  (the  daughters 
of  King  Pierus,  of  Thessaly,  a  band  similar  to  the 
Muses  themselves).  On  a  summit  of  Parnassus  is 
seated  a  group  of  the  gods,  apparently  to  judge  of 
the  relative  merits  of  the  two  groups  of  maidens 
below.  The  composition  is  rather  stiff,  the  three 
groups  being  thus  arranged  in  a  triangular  way 
which  is  too  conventional ;  but  each  group  in  itself 
is  delightfully  conceived,  seen  against  the  rocky 
landscape  background.  Among  the  gods  one  easily 
distinguishes  Apollo,  in  the  centre,  with  Minerva 
by  his  side. 

Poussin  has  painted  a  Parnassus  of  thoroughly 
French  character.  It  is  in  the  Prado.  Apollo, 
seated  against  a  tree,  and  extending  his  hand,  smil- 
ing, is  holding  a  kind  of  reception  to  his  devotees. 
The  Muses  are  all  quite  ecstatic  looking,  but  do  not 
convey  any  special  impression,  being  rather  in  the 
background.  Numerous  Cupids,  with  laurel  leaves, 
fly  about,  seeking  those  upon  whom  to  bestow  then: 


io8  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Htt 

honours.  Various  poets  are  standing  about  in  the 
foreground. 

One  of  Franck's  pictures  in  the  Uffizi  represents 
the  dance  of  Cupids  before  a  group  of  what  are 
usually  called  "  nymphs,"  but  who  appear  to  be  the 
Muses.  Most  of  these  ladies,  who  are  seated  on 
a  bank  at  the  left,  are  playing  upon  musical  instru- 
ments. The  Amorini  are  dancing  joyously  in  a 
circle,  on  a  smooth  meadow  close  by.  Among  them 
is  one  little  negro  —  an  original  "  touch  of  colour !  " 
In  the  air  float  several  of  these  loves,  bearing  other 
musical  instruments;  one  carries  the  sphere  of  the 
Muse  Urania.  Twov  are  dragging  a  large  fish  or 
dolphin  to  the  shore  of  a  distant  river;  one  is  playing 
with  a  toy  windmill  on  the  end  of  a  stick  —  running 
against  the  wind  like  any  modern  baby !  Outside  the 
ring  of  dancers  there  is  a  little  couple  waltzing 
gleefully,  and  one  tiny  Cupid  is  standing  on  his 
head  on  the  turf.  From  a  mountain  peak  in  the 
distance  Pegasus  is  seen  jumping  off  for  flight. 

Tintoretto's  picture  of  the  Nine  Muses,  in 
London,  shows  the  sisters  in  full  length  figures, 
grouped  gracefully  amidst  clouds,  the  background 
being  full  of  sunlight.  One  is  seated  with  a  lute; 
another  with  a  spinet;  Urania  consults  her  globe, 
another  a  chart;  one  is  floating  in  the  air.  The 
picture  is  unfolding  a  vision  rather  than  portraying 
an  actual  scene. 


Hpollo  anfc  tbe  /Buses  109 

There  is  a  Parnassus  by  Utenwael  in  Dresden,  — 
an  interesting  example  of  the  Flemish  treatment 
of  the  subject.  There  is  also  an  Apollo  and  the 
Muses  by  Lairesse  in  the  same  gallery.  In  the  Villa 
Aldobrandini  there  is  an  Apollo  and  the  Muses  by 
Domenichino. 

Mr.  Howard  Walker's  exquisite  fresco  in  the 
Library  of  Congress  in  Washington,  representing 
the  Muse  of  Lyric  Poetry,  is  worthy  to  rank  among 
the  great  studies  of  the  Muses  in  art.  The  Muse 
Euterpe  is  in  the  centre.  She  is  clad  somewhat  like 
the  Muses  as  figured  by  Giulio  Romano.  Figures 
emblematic  of  the  emotions  which  inspire  her  are 
grouped  on  either  side,  some  nude,  some  partly 
draped.  There  are  few  figures  in  art  more  har- 
monious and  satisfactory  than  that  of  Passion. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MYTHS     RELATING     TO     DIANA 

DIANA,  or  Artemis,  the  virgin  huntress  and  moon- 
goddess,  is  a  fit  companion  to  her  brother  Apollo. 
Her  characteristics  are  brought  out  by  Homer: 
"  as  when  Artemis,  proud  of  her  arrows,  walks 
over  the  mountains  .  .  .  and  delights  to  follow  the 
wild  boar  or  the  swift  stag;  around  her  play  the 
nymphs,  daughters  of  Zeus  the  ^Egis-bearer,  who 
dwell  in  the  meads,  and  Latona  rejoices  at  heart." 

Early  representations  of  Artemis  are  uniformly 
stiff,  although  there  is  nearly  always  a  breeziness 
of  action,  denoting  that  the  artist  had  it  in  mind  to 
suggest  more  than  ordinary  virility.  The  type  began 
to  be  refined  and  graceful  by  the  fourth  and  third 
centuries  B.  c.,  and  the  Artemis  of  Versailles,  which 
is  in  the  Louvre,  is  as  exquisite  a  development  of 
the  feminine  ideal  as  is  the  Apollo  Belvedere  of  the 
masculine.  The  light  poise  of  the  limbs,  suggesting 
swift  progress,  the  strong  grasp  of  the  hand  which 

holds  the  bow,  and  the  deft  turn  of  the  wrist  which 

no 


CORREGGIO.  — DIANA. 


"Relating  to  Diana  m 

reaches  over  the  shoulder  to  take  an  arrow  from  the 
quiver,  will  be  remembered  by  all. 

Correggio's  Diana  in  Parma  is  a  lovely  creation 
of  expressive  grace.  Out  of  a  background  of  cloud 
she  shines  forth  radiantly.  In  spirit  she  is  very 
Greek :  she  has  sympathetic  simplicity  which  seems 
to  be  above  the  art  of  realistic  representation.  She 
has  all  the  elements  of  romance  together  with  all 
the  essentials  of  chastity.  She  is  not  unmaidenly  in 
her  frank  gaze  forward,  —  only  eager  and  objec- 
tive. Symonds  calls  her  a  "  goddess  of  strong,  calm 
splendour."  She  is  one  of  the  most  satisfactory 
Dianas  in  art ;  she  is  innocent,  pagan,  joyous,  —  in 
the  true  spirit  of  this  unique  painter,  who  stands 
alone  in  his  art  for  the  simple  portrayal  of  the  joy 
of  living,  with  no  question  of  conscience,  responsi- 
bility, or  prudence ;  in  temperament  a  Greek,  whose 
soul  is  in  his  flesh.  The  life  and  movement  in  this 
Parma  fresco,  standing  in  the  quaint  convent  of 
San  Paolo,  must  have  been  always  mysterious  to 
the  inmates  of  the  house,  unless,  indeed,  it  chanced 
that  a  Greek  spirit  survived  in  some  of  the  hooded 
community.  If  there  were  such  a  one,  Diana  was 
understood. 

Among  Raphael's  Days  Diana  presides  over 
Monday.  She  is  seen,  stern  and  rather  forbidding 
in  her  conscious  chasteness;  she  is  not  Greek  as 
Correggio's  goddess  is  Greek,  in  the  spirit,  although 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


she  is  very  correctly  classic  in  the  letter.  Standing 
in  her  car,  she  directs  the  two  virgins  who  draw  it, 
with  a  peremptory  order,  pointed  with  a  firm  fore- 
finger. She  grasps  her  bow  with  determination  ;  she 
is  not  the  happy  pagan  moon-goddess  in  this  picture; 
she  is  the  unrelenting  virgin  who  killed  Actaeon 
without  a  shudder,  —  the  goddess  of  one  virtue,  — 
the  Puritan. 

The  gods  took  dire  revenge  when  their  dignities 
were  offended.  Listen  to  the  fate  of  Actaeon! 
Ovid  speaks  :  "  While  the  Titanian  goddess  was 
there  bathing,  in  the  wonted  stream,  behold!  the 
grandson  of  Cadmus,  having  deferred  the  remainder 
of  his  sport  to  the  next  day,  came  into  the  grove, 
wandering  through  the  unknown  wood,  with 
uncertain  steps  :  thus  did  his  Fate  direct  him." 
Surely  there  was  no  malice  or  evil  intent  in 
this;  but  the  goddess  never  stopped  to  inquire 
into  motives.  "  Soon  as  he  entered  the  grotto, 
dripping  with  its  springs,  the  nymphs,  all  naked 
as  they  were,  on  seeing  a  man,  smote  their 
breasts  and  filled  all  the  wood  with  sudden 
shrieks,  and  gathered  round  Diana,  covering 
her  with  their  bodies.  .  .  .  She,  although  sur- 
rounded by  the  crowd  of  her  attendants,  stood  side- 
ways, and  turned  her  face  back  .  .  .  and  so  she 
took  up  water  .  .  .  and  threw  it  over  the  face  of 
the  man,  and,  sprinkling  his  hair  with  the  avenging 


Delating  to  Diana          113 

stream,  she  added  these  words :  '  Now  thou  mayest 
tell,  if  thou  canst,  how  that  I  was  seen  by  thee  with- 
out my  garments.'  Threatening  no  more,  she 
places  on  his  sprinkled  head  the  horns  of  a  lively 
stag ;  she  adds  length  to  his  neck ;  she  sharpens  the 
tops  of  his  ears,  and  she  changes  his  hands  into  feet, 
and  his  arms  into  legs,  and  covers  his  body  with  a 
spotted  coat  of  hair."  The  sad  sequel  was,  that 
Actaeon,  running  away,  in  the  guise  of  a  stag,  fell 
a  prey  to  his  own  hounds,  who  turned  on  him  and 
tore  him  limb  from  limb.  His  inadvertent  peep 
at  the  unclothed  goddess  cost  him  his  life,  which 
was  even  a  worse  penalty  than  that  of  the  rogue 
whose  eye  withered  when  he  looked  at  Godiva! 
"  And  the  rage  of  the  quiver-bearing  Diana  is  said 
not  to  have  been  satiated  until  his  life  was  ended 
by  many  a  wound." 

One  of  the  most  complete  and  conscientious  repre- 
sentations of  the  fate  of  Actason  is  to  be  seen  in  a 
picture  by  Breughel  in  the  Corsini  Gallery.  The 
drawing  of  many  of  the  figures  is  faulty,  and  the 
picture  has  little  beauty ;  but  the  episode  is  respected 
in  all  its  details.  Breughel  was  illustrating  Ovid, 
rather  than  producing  a  decorative  canvas.  The 
nymphs  are  bathing  in  a  grotto.  There  are  two 
large  cave-like  openings  in  the  rocky  back ;  through 
one,  Actaeon  is  seen,  standing,  looking  in,  while 
Diana,  near  the  opening,  is  in  the  act  of  raising  a 


H4  Classic  /iDvtfos  in  Hrt 

handful  of  water  to  dash  in  his  face.  Through  the 
other  opening,  the  history  is  continued ;  Actaeon,  as 
a  stag,  is  seen  dashing  across  the  country,  the  hounds 
in  hot  pursuit. 

Lefebre,  with  quite  another  object  in  view, 
namely,  that  of  painting  some  pretty  nude  girls,  has 
given  us,  in  his  picture,  a  group  of  shuddering 
bathers,  one  of  whom  has  a  crescent  moon  on  her 
forehead.  In  the  dim  distance  a  man  is  seen.  The 
nymphs  are  French;  not  Greek.  There  is  little 
thought  of  the  episode,  but  the  execution  is  charm- 
ing. 

The  Diana  and  Actaeon  of  Titian  was  painted 
when  the  artist  was  a  man  of  eighty-two.  Actaeon 
appears,  his  quiver  on  his  back,  and  his  dogs  beside 
him.  He  holds  up  his  hands  in  surprise,  and  drops 
his  bow  when  he  sees  Diana  on  the  opposite  side  of  a 
little  brook.  She  is  nude,  sitting  on  her  clothes,  with 
the  crescent  on  her  brow.  A  nymph  beside  her  is 
drying  her  feet.  On  the  bank  lies  a  purple  mantle. 
Diana  bows  her  head  in  shame  when  she  sees  Ac- 
taeon, and  a  negress,  who  is  in  attendance  on  her, 
vainly  tries  to  cover  her  by  pulling  her  clothes  over 
her.  The  nymphs  are  bathing  in  a  marble  fountain, 
with  decorative  architectural  features.  In  an  ex- 
quisite landscape  by  Corot  a  few  small  figures  are 
seen  disporting  themselves  in  a  river  and  on  the 
banks.  This  is  called  Diana's  Bath.  Actaeon  does 


Delating  to  HMana  "5 

not  appear  at  all  in  this  case  —  it  may  be  any  bath  of 
Diana  which  is  represented. 

In  a  painting  in  the  Prado  in  Madrid,  Diana, 
figured  by  an  artist  of  the  German  school,  is  seen 
transforming  the  intruder  into  a  stag  by  throwing 
water  over  him  from  a  pitcher ;  this  is  quite  a  Teu- 
tonic touch  of  genre! 

The  learned  Doctor  Messer  Barnada  del  Pozzo 
engaged  Pordenone  to  paint  a  lovely  Diana  and  Ac- 
tseon  in  his  garden;  but,  owing  to  its  exposed 
situation,  this  fresco  has  perished. 

Schidone's  Diana  and  Actaeon,  in  St.  Petersburg, 
displays  the  goddess  of  the  chase  with  three  nymphs 
up  to  their  knees  in  the  river,  while  Actaeon,  on  the 
right,  has  been  already  changed  into  a  stag,  and 
is  flying,  among  his  dogs,  from  the  scene. 

Pictures  of  Diana  in  hunting  scenes  are  often 
delightful,  and  present  the  goddess  in  one  of  her 
most  interesting  aspects.  There  is  a  celebrated  pic- 
ture by  Domenichino  in  the  Villa  Borghese  in  Rome, 
representing  a  sort  of  target-practice  scene,  a  contest 
between  the  nymphs  of  Diana  in  skill  with  the  bow. 
The  scene  is  in  a  meadow;  there  are  some  bushes 
here  and  there.  In  a  little  pool  in  the  foreground 
some  of  the  nymphs  are  seen  bathing,  while  another 
is  restraining  a  fine  hound  who  sees  some  observ- 
ing intruders  in  the  bushes  at  the  right.  On  a 
slight  eminence  Diana  herself  stands,  cheering  on 


"6  Classic  fl&ptbs  in  Brt 

the  contest  of  skill,  her  hands  above  her  head,  hold- 
ing her  bow  and  empty  quiver  high,  while  she  shouts 
encouragement  to  her  followers.  The  archers  are 
ranged  at  the  left,  some  kneeling  and  some  standing. 
These  girls  are  all  in  the  act  of  shooting  or  setting 
arrows  to  their  bows.  One  of  them  has  just  shot 
a  bird,  which  comes  hurtling  down  through  the  air. 
The  arrow  of  another  is  stuck  fast  in  the  top  of  a 
twig.  The  attitude  of  surprise  and  delight  exhibited 
by  a  child  at  Diana's  left  is  charmingly  portrayed. 
In  the  background  are  seen  two  nymphs  carrying 
a  dead  stag  slung  on  a  pole;  others  are  running  a 
race.  The  figure  of  Diana  is  not  tall  enough,  or 
sufficiently  imposing,  to  do  justice  to  her  character; 
but  the  whole  scene  is  as  sylvan  and  as  glad  as  one 
of  Correggio's  conceits.  Domenichino  is  unlike 
Guido,  for  he  is  more  earnest  and  natural.  The 
little  nymphs  bathing  and  sporting  with  Diana  are 
charmingly  girlish  and  arch,  if  a  trifle  vulgar  and 
rustic.  Morelli  says  that  this  picture  is  worthy  of 
a  purer  period  of  art.  He  considers  it  equally  de- 
serving of  popularity  with  Guide's  Aurora. 

Diana's  Hunt  by  Rubens,  in  Berlin,  has  no  classic 
feeling  at  all;  heavy  peasants  are  masquerading 
as  deities,  chasing  a  stag  to  its  death  among  the 
dogs.  The  picture  is  ferocious  and  uninteresting. 
It  is  highly  finished,  and  evidently  the  master  himself 
took  pride  in  it.  Another  Rubens  bearing  the  same 


IRelatfng  to  S>iana  «7 

name,  but  showing  a  more  peaceful  scene,  is  in 
Munich.  Here  the  chase  has  taken  place,  and  the 
goddess  and  her  nymphs  are  regaling  their  eyes 
with  watching  a  stag  disembowelled.  More  peace- 
ful, but  hardly  more  attractive.  The  figures  are 
all  coarse,  and  past  early  youth.  On  the  right,  a 
pair  of  sturdy  nymphs  are  lifting  a  dead  boar,  with 
much  pride,  from  the  back  of  a  donkey.  Other 
dead  game  lie  on  the  ground,  and  a  stalwart  bugler 
is  blowing  her  horn  to  assemble  those  who  have 
strayed  aside.  The  scene  is  in  a  thicket. 

Vertagnan  has  painted  a  curious,  dry,  stiff  pic- 
ture of  Diana,  presiding  over  a  sylvan  dance.  The 
painting  is  in  Berlin.  In  an  open  field,  a  satyr  and  a 
nymph  are  indulging  in  a  gay  springing  dance  oppo- 
site to  each  other.  Diana  and  her  retainers  are  sit- 
ting on  a  bank  at  the  left,  watching  their  diversions. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  carefully  painted  detail  about 
the  landscape  and  foreground,  but  the  whole  pic- 
ture is  not  interesting. 

In  his  charmingly  quaint  volume  on  Italy,  that 
unequalled  conversationalist,  Doctor  Moore,  says 
that  there  is  one  story  about  Diana  which  he  must 
consider  malicious  and  untrue ;  "  I  do  not  mean  her 
rencounter  with  Actaeon,"  chuckles  Doctor  Moore, 
"  for  the  goddess  of  chastity  may,  without  incon- 
sistency, be  supposed  cruel ;  but  it  is  quite  impossible 


us  Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

to  reconcile  her  general  character  with  the  stories 
of  her  nocturnal  visits  to  Endymion !  " 

Nevertheless,  Endymion,  the  beautiful  youth 
whom  the  moon-goddess  saw  sleeping  one  night 
as  she  rode  along,  was  the  recipient  of  unchaperoned 
favours  from  the  virgin  goddess.  Probably  that 
very  glance,  so  happy  and  gratified,  which  is  per- 
petuated by  Correggio  in  his  delightful  Diana  in  the 
convent,  was  bestowed  upon  the  unconscious 
Endymion.  At  any  rate  Diana  saw  him,  and  left  her 
car,  night  after  night,  to  embrace  and  admire  him; 
this  much  is  as  certain  as  that  Diana  rides  the  moon- 
chariot  at  all. 

In  the  Uffizi  is  a  beautiful  sleeping  Endymion 
by  Guercino ;  he  is  seated,  but  is  leaning  on  a  wall, 
sleeping  with  one  hand  beneath  his  head,  while  a 
crescent  moon  peeps  from  the  clouds  above.  He  has 
charming  ringlets  and  beautiful  eyelashes.  The 
Greeks  credited  their  deities  with  certain  human 
frailties.  Those  attributes  seemed  to  them  the  most 
desirable  compliments  which  they  could  bestow. 
The  most  human  thing  about  Diana  is  her  devotion 
to  the  youthful  Endymion. 

Caracci  has  painted  a  very  solid  and  stolid  person 
under  the  name  of  Endymion,  whose  head  is  being 
embraced  by  a  very  mature  Diana. 

The  Sleep  of  Endymion,  by  Girodet,  in  the 
Louvre,  shows  a  most  degenerate  young  man  lying 


IRelatiuQ  to  Diana  119 

in  an  affected  pose,  on  a  bank  draped  with  Greek 
stuffs  and  leopard  skins.  A  Cupid,  more  in  the 
nature  of  a  "  Puck,"  is  pirouetting  in  the  moon- 
light, indulging  in  a  step  which  has  since  become 
associated  with  the  "  cake-walk,"  leaning  his  body 
back  and  stepping  high.  The  picture  is  mawkish  in 
the  extreme,  although  the  elfin  Cupid  is  drawn  with 
masterly  skill. 

The  Diana  and  Endymion  in  Dresden,  ascribed  to 
Parmigiano,  is  now  attributed  to  Dosso  Dossi,  but 
Morelli  considers  it  a  Garofolo. 

Vasari,  having  chronicled  how  he  himself  painted 
a  picture  of  Psyche  with  a  lamp,  bending  over 
Cupid,  who  is  just  awakening,  proceeds  to  tell  an 
amusing  story :  "  These  figures,  which  were  of  life- 
size,  and  entirely  nude,"  he  writes,  "  caused  Alfonso 
di  Tomasso  Cambi  (then  a  most  beautiful  youth) 
...  to  desire  that  I  should  make  a  portrait  of  hin> 
self  also  nude  and  life-size,  in  the  character  of 
Endymion,  that  hunter  beloved  of  the  moon;  the 
fair  form  of  the  youth  and  a  landscape  of  fanciful 
composition  amidst  which  he  is  seen,  received  their 
light  from  the  splendour  of  the  moon,  which,  pene- 
trating, or  rather  dissipating  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  gives  the  view  a  tolerably  natural  and  pleas- 
ing appearance,  for  I  laboured  with  all  diligence  to 
imitate  the  peculiar  tints  communicated  by  the  pale 


Classic  /iDEtbs  in  Hrt 

yellow  light  of  the  moon  to  such  objects  as  are 
struck  by  the  same." 

One  of  the  instances  of  the  heartlessness  of  the 
pure  goddess  of  the  fair  moon  is  the  myth  of  Niobe. 
"  Niobe  might  be  pronounced  the  happiest  of 
mothers,  if  she  had  not  seemed  so  to  herself,"  re- 
marks Ovid,  sagely.  She  refused  to  offer  homage 
to  Latona,  but  boasted  that  she  herself  was  as 
worthy  all  honour,  having  seven  sons  and  seven 
daughters,  while  Latona's  only  offspring  were 
Apollo  and  Diana.  This  caused  the  anger  of 
Latona  to  descend  upon  her.  She  called  her  son 
and  her  daughter  in  her  indignation,  and  stated  her 
case.  Then  did  Apollo  and  Diana  plan  a  truly 
Olympian  vengeance.  "  By  a  speedy  descent  through 
the  air  "  they  arrived,  covered  with  clouds,  at  the 
Citadel  of  Cadmus.  Then  did  the  tragedy  begin. 
The  sons  of  Niobe  were  out  exercising  their  horses. 
Suddenly  an  invisible  arrow  hit  one;  then  another; 
two  of  the  sons  were  enjoying  a  wrestling-match, 
when  an  arrow  "  pierced  them  both,  just  as  they 
were  united  together."  Until  all  seven  of  the  sons  of 
Niobe  are  slain,  Apollo  does  not  cease  his  cruel 
work.  Then  commences  the  same  course  of  destiny 
upon  the  daughters,  slain  by  Diana,  the  huntress. 
"  The  sisters  were  standing  in  black  array,  with 
their  hair  dishevelled,  before  the  biers  of  their 
brothers.  One  of  these,  drawing  out  the  weapon 


Delating  to  2>iana  121 

sticking  in  her  entrails,  about  to  die,  swooned  away, 
with  her  face  placed  upon  her  brother.  Another, 
endeavouring  to  console  her  wretched  parent,  was 
suddenly  silent,  and  was  doubled  together  with  an 
invisible  wound,  and  did  not  close  her  mouth  until 
after  the  breath  had  departed."  So  the  ghastly 
slaughter  went  on,  until  "  the  last  only  remains. 
The  mother,  covering  her  with  all  her  body  and  with 
all  her  garments,  cries,  '  Leave  me  but  one  ' ;  "  but 
no  pity  is  shown.  The  relentless  Diana  pursues  her 
bloodthirsty  vengeance,  and  Niobe  is  left  utterly 
alone.  There,  in  her  grief,  she  is  turned  to  stone, 
"  in  her  features  is  a  colour  without  blood  .  .  .  her 
eyes  stand  unmoved  in  her  sad  cheeks  ...  in  her 
form  there  is  no  appearance  of  life  .  .  .  within  her 
entrails,  too,  it  is  stone." 

The  arrangement  of  the  Niobe  group  of  antique 
statues  in  Florence  is  admirable.  All  around  a  large 
hall  stand  those  figures  emblematic  of  human  woe. 
Niobe  herself,  as  Taine  expresses  it,  "  stands  hope- 
less, her  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  contemplating  with 
admiration  and  horror  the  dazzling  deadly  nimbus, 
the  outstretched  arms,  the  merciless  arrows,  and  the 
implacable  serenity  of  the  gods."  The  German 
editor  of  Winckelmann  says :  "  No  one  can  prize 
the  Laocoon  more  highly  than  we  do ;  but  a  godlike 
spirit  streams  from  the  Niobe,  and  impels  heaven- 
ward the  feelings  of  the  spectator."  Niobe  and  her 


122  Classic  fl&stbs  in  art 


daughters  are  represented  with  the  same  restraint 
as  the  Apollo  Belvedere.  Suffering  and  woe  are 
only  suggested  in  a  conventional  way,  so  that  the 
beauty  which,  to  the  Greeks,  consisted  so  largely 
in  repose,  might  not  be  interfered  with  by  the  ex- 
pression of  pain.  Winckelmann  says  :  "  All  the 
mental  powers  are  completely  overwhelmed  and 
paralyzed  by  the  near  approach  of  death."  The 
difference  between  the  Niobe  and  the  Laocoon  is 
felt  at  once.  One  is  calm,  still,  mental  suffering,  and 
the  other  violent  physical  anguish.  The  preference 
for  beauty  at  the  expense  of  realism  is  marked  in  the 
statue  of  Niobe,  A  naive  remark  from  Doctor 
Moore  on  this  subject  explains  the  motive  of  the 
Greeks  in  thus  making  beauty  predominant.  "  It  is 
unjust,  you  will  say,"  comments  Doctor  Moore, 
"  that  men  should  not  sympathize  with  homely 
women  in  distress  in  the  same  degree  as  they  do  with 
the  beautiful.  That  is  very  true  :  but  it  is  the  busi- 
ness of  the  sculptor  to  apply  his  art  to  men  as  he  finds 
them,  not  as  they  ought  to  be."  A  very  commercial 
view  of  art-ideals,  but  very  practical!  Mercury 
presided  over  the  business  side  of  art,  doubtless,  and 
mischievously  inspired  his  votaries  with  this  cautious 
tact. 

On  the  top  of  a  sarcophagus  in  the  Vatican  is  a 
relief  of  the  dying  daughters  of  Niobe.  These  re- 
cumbent figures  are  beautifully  modelled. 


1Relatfn0  to  Diana          123 

Diana's  relentlessness  was  inherited  from  her 
mother,  Latona.  "  Some  countrymen  of  old,"  so 
goes  the  story,  as  Ovid  tells  it,  "  once  insulted  the 
goddess,  but  not  with  impunity."  Latona,  journey- 
ing with  her  two  little  children,  Apollo  and  Diana, 
was  stopping  to  drink  at  a  stream,  when  some  ill- 
bred  rustics  refused  to  allow  her  to  quench  her 
thirst.  They  certainly  made  themselves  disagree- 
able ;  "  they  muddy  the  lake  itself  with  their  feet 
and  hands,  and  they  raise  the  soft  mud  from  the  very 
bottom  of  the  water,  by  spitefully  jumping  to  and 
fro."  The  goddess  turns  upon  them  in  her  wrath. 
"  Raising  her  hands  to  heaven,  she  says,  '  For  ever 
may  you  live  in  that  pool.'  The  wish  of  the  goddess 
comes  to  pass.  .  .  .  Their  voice,  too,  is  low  and 
hoarse,  and  their  bloated  necks  swell  out ;  and  their 
very  abuse  extends  their  dilated  jaws.  Their  backs 
are  united  to  their  heads;  their  necks  seem  as 
though  cut  off;  their  backbone  is  green;  as  new- 
made  frogs  they  leap  about  in  the  muddy  stream." 

In  Munich  is  a  picture  by  Rubens  of  Latona  and 
her  children  kneeling  by  the  stream,  while  the  coarse 
faces  of  the  clowns  are  seen  on  the  left.  One  of 
them  has  already  turned  into  a  frog,  and  the  mouth 
and  eyes  of  the  other  are  gradually  spreading  and 
losing  their  human  look. 

The  Sacrifice  of  Iphigenia  is  a  dramatic  episode 
which  has  occurred  now  and  then  in  a.rt.  This  is 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

one  of  the  occasions  where  Diana  appears  in  the 
light  of  a  benefactress  instead  of  as  an  avenger. 
Iphigenia's  father,  Agamemnon,  having  killed  a 
stag  which  was  sacred  to  Diana,  the  virgin  goddess 
punished  the  offence  by  sending  pestilence  into  the 
army.  When  they  applied  to  the  soothsayer  for 
advice  how  to  stay  the  plague,  they  were  told  that 
Iphigenia,  the  daughter  of  the  wrong-doer,  must  be 
sacrificed  on  the  altar.  Accordingly,  with  much 
pain,  Agamemnon  brought  his  daughter  to  the 
sacrifice.  The  maiden  behaved  with  noble  fortitude, 
and,  believing  that  the  health  of  the  whole  army 
hinged  upon  her  submission,  agreed  to  yield  herself 
to  the  knife.  Euripides  draws  the  scene  boldly. 
"  She,  standing  near  him  that  begot  her,  spake  thus  : 
'  O  father,  I  am  here  for  thee,  and  willingly  I  give 
my  body  on  behalf  of  my  country  .  .  .  that,  leading 
it  to  the  altar  of  the  goddess,  they  may  sacrifice  it, 
since  this  is  ordained.  .  .  .  Furthermore,  let  no  one 
of  the  Greeks  lay  hands  on  me,  for  with  a  stout  heart 
I  will  present  my  neck  in  silence.'  .  .  .  Thus  much 
she  spoke,  and  every  one  marvelled  on  hearing  the 
courage  and  valour  of  the  virgin.  .  .  .  But  the 
Atrides  and  all  the  army  stood  looking  on  the 
ground,  and  the  priest,  taking  the  knife,  prayed,  and 
viewed  her  neck,  that  he  might  find  a  place  to 
strike."  At  this  point,  Diana,  touched  by  the 
fortitude  of  the  virgin,  snatched  her  away,  and  in 


IRelatino  to  Diana          125 

her  place  sent  a  stag  to  be  sacrificed.  "  Then  was 
a  marvel  to  behold ;  for  every  one  could  clearly  per- 
ceive the  sound  of  the  blow,  but  beheld  not  the 
virgin,  where  on  earth  she  had  vanished.  But  the 
priest  exclaimed,  and  the  whole  army  shouted,  be- 
holding an  unexpected  prodigy  from  some  one  of 
the  gods,  of  which,  though  seen,  they  scarcely  had 
belief.  For  a  stag  lay  panting  on  the  ground  .  .  . 
with  whose  blood  the  altar  of  the  goddess  was 
abundantly  wetted." 

There  is  a  famous  old  fresco  found  in  the  House 
of  the  Tragic  Poet  in  Pompeii,  and  now  in  the 
Naples  Museum,  in  which  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia 
is  represented.  Agamemnon,  the  father,  stands 
at  the  left,  with  his  face  veiled  in  his  cloak.  Iphi- 
genia, in  the  centre,  is  being  carried  to  the  altar  by 
two  men,  while  the  priest,  with  a  wreath  on  his 
head,  his  tall  figure  clad  in  long  robes,  stands  at 
the  right,  ready  to  perform  the  grim  ceremony.  In 
the  clouds  are  two  small  visions  of  Diana,  one  with 
her  bow,  and  one  bringing  the  stag  for  sacrifice. 
Iphigenia  appears  to  see  these  manifestations  in  the 
sky,  for  she  turns  and  reaches  out  her  hand  to 
Artemis. 

The  fact  of  the  father's  face  being  veiled  has  been 
criticized  in  various  ways,  some  contending  that  it 
adds  the  strength  of  mystery,  and  others  that  it  was 
adopted  by  the  artist  simply  because  he  felt  unable 


126  Classic  flDstbs  in  art 

to  portray  such  suffering  as  Agamemnon's  on  this 
occasion.  By  the  side  of  the  figure  is  a  pedestal  with 
a  small  statuette  of  Diana. 

In  the  Uffizi  is  an  effective  painting  by  Tiepolo, 
broadly  executed  on  a  rough  canvas,  representing 
the  moment  when  Iphigenia,  of  her  own  accord, 
lays  her  head  upon  the  altar  that  her  throat  may 
receive  the  wound.  The  light  lies  strongly  on  the 
figure  of  the  girl,  while  a  kneeling  man,  binding  a 
fagot  in  the  foreground,  is  almost  a  silhouette  in 
deep  shade.  The  effect  is  very  good,  although  it  is 
artificial.  Behind  Iphigenia  is  seen  the  virgin  god- 
dess, and  the  stag,  in  the  shadow;  nymphs  (and 
also  Cupids,  for  some  unknown  reason),  enveloped 
in  a  fleecy  bright  cloud,  are  in  the  act  of  laying  hold 
of  Iphigenia  to  bear  her  away.  The  costumes  are 
not  strictly  Grecian,  the  heroine  wearing  a  laced 
bodice;  but  the  strong  lights  and  shades  bring  out 
the  graceful  proportions  and  turn  of  the  head  and 
shoulder,  and  the  picture  is,  on  the  whole,  a  pleas- 
ing one  for  its  period. 

In  Munich  there  are  also  two  pictures  by  Tiepolo, 
one  showing  Iphigenia  led  from  the  harbour  of 
Aulis  to  the  temple,  near  the  columns  of  which  she 
awaits  the  priest.  In  the  foreground  are  pages  with 
dogs,  vessels  lie  at  anchor  in  the  water,  and  in  the 
clouds  Diana  is  seen  with  Cupids  and  the  stag. 
The  presence  of  Cupid  may  indicate  the  fact  that 


iRelating  to  HHana          127 

Iphigenia  was  lured  to  the  temple  originally  by 
promises  of  her  immediate  marriage.  In  the  other 
picture,  Iphigenia  lies  fainting  in  the  arms  of  a 
kneeling  man,  while  the  priest  reads  prayers  from  a 
book  held  by  a  youth.  The  statue  of  the  goddess 
is  partly  covered  by  clouds,  upon  which  Artemis, 
with  the  stag  and  Cupids,  is  seen  riding. 

Diana  transported  Iphigenia  to  Tauris,  where 
was  a  famous  temple  dedicated  to  her  worship,  and 
she  made  the  noble  virgin  priestess  of  this  fane. 
A  dramatic  meeting  took  place  at  this  temple  later, 
when  Orestes,  the  brother  of  Iphigenia,  came  to 
Tauris  with  intent  to  carry  off  the  statue  of  Diana. 
He  and  his  companions  were  caught  and  brought 
bound  to  the  temple,  to  be  slain,  as  was  the 
custom  among  those  savage  people  in  welcoming 
strangers;  imagine  the  amazement  of  Orestes,  in 
discovering  his  long-lost  sister  serving  there  as 
priestess!  He  was  released,  and  Iphigenia  joined 
them  in  their  plot,  and  the  three  sailed  away,  statue 
and  all.  It  is  recorded  that  in  the  first  century  there 
existed  a  statue  of  Diana  near  Marathon  which 
the  natives  claimed  was  the  Artemis  brought  by 
Iphigenia  on  the  occasion  of  her  flight  from  Tauris ; 
but  Pausanias  will  not  accept  this  story,  saying  that, 
indeed,  there  is  an  ancient  statue  of  Diana  at  this 
place,  but  assuring  us  that  he  has  reason  to  know 
that  the  Tauris  statue  is  elsewhere! 


i28  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

Benjamin  West  painted  a  picture  of  the  meeting 
of  Iphigenia  with  Orestes  in  the  temple;  he  and 
his  companions  are  bound,  and  brought  before  her, 
and  she  recognizes  them,  chiding  the  barbarians  who 
are  treating  them  with  such  indignity.  The  picture  is 
not  a  great  production,  but  it  portrays  the  scene 
with  sincerity,  with  an  effort  at  realism  in  garb  and 
settings ;  although,  like  nearly  all  historic  paintings, 
except  where  they  are  academically  exact,  one  can 
detect  the  period  of  the  artist  by  the  style  in  which 
the  hair  is  dressed;  nearly  all  painters  will  uncon- 
sciously draw  the  head  according  to  the  ideal  of 
their  own  day. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

PALLAS,    MARS,    MERCURY,    AND    VULCAN 

ATHENA,  or  Minerva,  was  originally  portrayed 
only  as  the  goddess  of  war;  the  legend  of  her  birth 
being  that  "  her  life  as  the  lightning  was  flashed 
from  the  light  of  her  father's  head  "  ;  in  other 
words,  that  she  sprang  fully  armed  from  the  brain 
of  Jove.  The  Homeric  Hymn  thus  outlines  the 
myth :  "  She  sprang  on  a  sudden  from  out  the  im- 
mortal head,  shaking  her  pointed  lance;  huge 
Olympus  was  shaken  to  its  base  under  the  weight  of 
the  gray-eyed  goddess,  and  all  around  the  earth 
groaned  terribly."  But  by  degrees  this  myth  was 
amplified,  and  Minerva  presided  over  the  art  of  heal- 
ing, and  was  patron  of  all  learning;  so  that  by  the 
fifth  century  B.  c.  Pallas  Athena  was  a  deity  of 
great  moral  and  intellectual  force. 

The  famous  statue  by  Pheidias  became  the  type  of 
Minerva.  This  statue  was  a  stately  figure,  in  repose, 
witK  a  Helmet,  in  tHe  middle  of  which,  says  Pausa- 

nias,  "  is  the  figure  of  the  sphynx  and  on  each  side 

129 


i3°  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

are  wrought  gryphons."  The  shield  showed  the 
Gorgon's  head,  and  the  figure  was  clad  in  a  chiton, 
falling  to  the  ground,  while  her  spear  stood  by 
disused.  The  thoughtful  and  intellectual  predomi- 
nated over  the  pugilistic. 

The  fine  figure  of  the  Minerva  Medica  is  very 
familiar  to  most  of  us  as  the  statue  of  Pallas.  The 
quiet  dignity  of  the  conventional  figure,  standing  at 
ease,  one  hand  holding  the  spear,  at  the  foot  of 
which  writhes  a  serpent,  is  well  carried  out  by  the 
heavy  clinging  folds  of  drapery  which  fall  from  the 
shoulder  with  a  graceful  sweep  toward  the  right 
side.  She  wears  helmet  and  breastplate  in  the 
antique  representations.  When  painted  by  later 
artists  the  tendency  has  been  rather  to  emphasize 
her  ascendency  over  learning  and  the  arts,  than  her 
warlike  character. 

In  the  National  Museum  in  Athens  is  another 
equally  famous,  but  less  poetically  beautiful,  statue 
of  Pallas;  one  hand,  resting  on  a  column,  bears  a 
small  figure  of  Nike,  or  Victory,  while  Minerva 
holds  the  shield,  about  which  a  serpent  twines.  In 
this  statue  she  wears  a  helmet  set  with  a  species  of 
crested  horses,  which  are  most  decorative. 

Tintoretto  has  painted  Pallas  in  a  charming  fresco 
in  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice.  She  is  here  in  her 
character  as  the  healer,  for,  though  she  wears  the  ac- 
coutrements of  war,  she  is  soothing  Venus,  who 


Dallas,  /Bars,  flbercurs,  an&  IDuican  131 

has  received  a  wound  from  Mars.  (Armour  is 
evidently  not  the  proper  costume  for  embracing1!) 
The  figure  of  Pallas  driving  back  the  bold  Mars  with 
her  charming  hand  is  an  almost  coquettish  view  of 
the  goddess;  the  cuirass  which  she  wears  in  good 
warrior  fashion  is  in  coy  contrast  with  her  exquis- 
itely feminine  shoulder  and  leg.  Venus,  at  the  right, 
is  holding  a  cloth  to  her  breast,  while  an  attendant 
brings  a  crystal  basin  of  water.  Mars  looks  rather 
guilty,  and,  at  any  rate,  he  has  no  intention  of  intrud- 
ing further.  The  head  of  Pallas  is  among  the  love- 
liest creations  of  the  art  of  Tintoretto.  Henry  James 
calls  it  "  one  of  the  sweetest  things  in  Venice,"  and 
says,  "  It  reminds  one  afresh  of  those  wild  flowers 
of  execution  that  bloom  so  profusely  and  so  un- 
heeded in  the  dark  corners  of  all  the  Tintoret's  work. 
.  .  .  '  Pallas  chasing  away  Mars'  is,  I  believe,  the 
name  that  is  given  to  the  picture;  and  it  represents 
in  fact  a  young  woman  of  noble  appearance  adminis- 
tering a  gentle  push  to  a  fine  young  man  in  armour, 
as  if  to  tell  him  to  keep  his  distance.  It  is  of  the 
gentleness  of  this  push  that  I  speak,  —  the  charming 
way  in  which  she  puts  out  her  arm,  with  a  single 
bracelet  on  it,  and  rests  her  young  hand,  with  its  rosy 
fingers  parted,  upon  his  dark  breastplate.  She  bends 
her  enchanting  head  with  the  effort,  —  a  head  which 
has  all  the  strange  fairness  that  the  Tintoret  always 
sees  in  women,  —  and  the  soft,  living,  flesh-like  glow 


132  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

of  all  these  members,  over  which  the  brush  has 
scarcely  paused  in  its  course,  is  as  pretty  an  example 
as  all  Venice  can  show." 

The  Minerva  in  Ricci's  painting  in  the  Louvre 
claims  to  display  her  as  instructing  Ignorance;  but 
it  exhibits  the  goddess  in  a  trivial  character,  holding 
up  a  bauble  between  her  thumb  and  finger,  —  af- 
fected, valueless  as  a  contribution  to  the  understand- 
ing of  Pallas. 

Minerva  is  not  often  selected  for  representation 
by  the  Renaissance  artists.  When  a  myth  of  some 
other  god  includes  her,  she  appears  (in  these  cases, 
usually,  rather  conventionally,  as  a  figure  in  a  breast- 
plate and  helmet,  without  much  facial  expression.) 
The  artist  who  has  emphasized  the  literary  and 
artistic  side  of  the  character  of  the  goddess,  and 
who  has  drawn  her  as  an  attractive  virgin,  who,  in 
spite  of  warlike  propensities  and  medical  knowledge, 
and  literary  achievement,  could  still  retain  her  sweet 
feminine  charm  and  beauty,  is  Botticelli.  Of  all  his 
lovely,  thoughtful  women,  none  is  so  satisfying  as 
the  Pallas  with  the  Centaur  in  the  Pitti  Palace  in 
Florence.  Crowned  and  gowned,  one  might  almost 
say,  with  the  olive-branches  which  are  among  her 
attributes,  the  only  warlike  sign  is  the  tall  battle-axe 
which  she  carries,  and  the  shield  slung  far  behind 
her.  The  goddess  holds  firmly  in  subjection  all  brute 
force  as  symbolized  in  the  Centaur,  which  she  grasps 


pallas,  /iDars,  ADercurs,  ant)  Dulcan  133 

by  the  hair  of  his  head.  Evidently  Botticelli  felt  that 
the  humane  arts,  healing  and  knowledge,  were  to  be 
more  powerful  than  arms  in  subduing  evil  passions 
and  savage  force,  and  in  that  he  was  not  far  behind 
the  twentieth  century. 

Garofolo  has  painted  Pallas  with  Neptune,  from  a 
drawing  by  Raphael.  The  picture  is  in  Dresden. 

Peruzzi  painted  a  Pallas  preparing  for  the  hunt, 
on  the  ceiling  of  the  garden-lodge  of  the  Farnesina 
Palace.  His  style,  however,  is  stiff  and  affected; 
the  subjects  are  painted  as  if  they  were  bas-reliefs, 
and  are  rigid. 

The  Homeric  Hymn  to  Ares,  or  Mars,  calls  him 
"  of  the  golden  helm,  the  shield-bearer,  .  .  .  clad  in 
bronze  armour,  strong  of  hand,  and  untiring."  Mars, 
god  of  war  and  power,  has  always  been  represented 
as  the  athlete,  usually  nude,  and  of  great  size. 
Among  the  ancient  statues  of  Mars,  the  Ares  Ludo- 
visi  in  Rome  is  the  most  beautiful;  the  figure  is 
seated,  at  rest,  with  a  little  Cupid  playing  fearlessly 
about  his  feet,  thus  showing  that  the  god  of  war  was 
not  a  bully,  but  a  protector  of  helplessness;  using 
his  strength  in  a  good  cause.  The  Greeks  made  less 
of  their  war-god,  strange  to  say,  than  did  the 
Romans  at  a  later  period.  The  feminine  Minerva 
was  more  invoked  than  the  stern  Ares. 

Mars  is  generally  represented  by  the  Greeks 
as  young  and  beardless.  But  he  was  not  a  Hercu- 


134  Classic  flDstbs  in  art 


les,  —  most  of  the  finest  ancient  statues  of  Mars 
(notably  the  seated  figure  with  the  Cupid  at  his  side) 
are  without  much  action,  and  suggest  rather  a  god 
of  gentle  warfare,  with  Venus  and  Cupid,  than  the 
deity  presiding  over  battering-rams  and  cavalry 
charges. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  picture  of  Mars  by  Velasquez. 
The  attitude  is  not  altogether  unlike  that  of  the 
Ares  Ludovisi.  He  is  seated,  apparently  lost  in 
thought. 

The  Mars  and  Venus  by  Botticelli  in  the  National 
Gallery  is  as  early  a  representation  as  we  find  of  the 
war-god  in  modern  art,  and  this  depicts  him  in  the 
peaceful  character  of  taking  a  nap,  while  Venus 
watches  his  slumbers.  Botticelli  was  too  much  a 
medievalist  to  be  able  to  create  classic  pictures  in 
an  appropriate  spirit.  Symonds  calls  our  attention 
to  this  fact,  when  he  says  that  "  this  combination 
or  confusion  of  artistic  impulses  in  Botticelli,  this 
treatment  of  pagan  themes  in  the  spirit  of  mediaeval 
mysticism,  sometimes  ended  in  a  bathos  of  grotesque- 
ness."  This  criticism  may  be  made  of  his  Mars,  who 
is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  young  Italian,  with 
a  very  well-drawn  throat  and  torso,  but  with  most 
unheroic  legs.  He  lies  asleep,  with  the  facial  expres- 
sion of  one  who  snores;  his  mouth  relaxed,  and  his 
appearance  uninspiring.  Venus,  thin,  haggard,  and 
tired,  sits  opposite  to  him,  regarding  him.  She  ig 


Dallas,  /IDars,  dDercurg,  ant)  IDulcan  135 

clothed  in  that  gauze  of  which  Botticelli  is  so  fond, 
and  which  he  handles  so  inimitably.  But  the  key  of 
sadness  in  her  bearing,  —  the  taking  thought  for 
the  morrow,  —  the  indifference  to  personal  appear- 
ance, —  would  never  have  satisfied  a  Greek  as  repre- 
senting his  goddess  of  love.  There  are  two  little 
satyrs,  or  Cupids,  with  goats'  feet,  playing  with  the 
discarded  armour  of  the  warrior.  They  are  well 
executed.  There  is  a  certain  quaint  note  about  the 
whole  picture  which  is  not  without  its  own  peculiar 
charm,  best  summed  up  by  Symonds,  when  he  says, 
"  It  gives  us  keen  pleasure  to  feel  exactly  how  a 
painter  like  Botticelli  applied  the  dry  naturalism  of 
the  early  Florentine  Renaissance,  as  well  as  his  own 
original  imagination,  to  a  subject  he  imperfectly 
realized."  Symonds  also  commends  highly  the  grace 
of  the  line  leading  up  the  side  of  the  recumbent 
Mars  from  hip  to  elbow. 

There  is  a  picture  of  Mars  and  Venus  by  Piero 
di  Cosimo  in  Berlin,  which  is  not  unlike  the  one 
just  described,  except  that  Venus  is  an  eminently 
cheerful  lady,  who  lies  at  her  ease,  opposite  the 
sleeping  Mars,  with  a  very  attractive  and  young- 
looking  Cupid  in  her  arms.  Of  Mars  there  is  little  to 
be  said  in  justification ;  but  of  Venus,  although  the 
body  is  twisted  so  as  to  be  out  of  drawing  from  a 
technical  point  of  view,  it  may  certainly  be  said  that 
she  has  an  individual  grace  which  is  quite  fascinat- 


136  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Brt 

ing,  in  spite  of  the  hard,  dry,  mediaeval  handling 
which  she  received  from  the  conscientious  Cosimo. 
The  baby,  with  a  little  gauze  scarf  twisted  about 
him,  is  gazing  over  the  top  of  his  head  in  a  very 
human  way  at  his  mother,  calling  her  attention  to  a 
fat  white  rabbit  which  has  joined  the  group.  In  the 
distance,  on  a  delightful  stretch  of  meadow  country, 
several  loves  are  sporting  with  the  armour  of  the 
war-god.  The  god  in  question,  with  his  ridiculous 
long,  fat  fingers,  is  as  awkward  a  figure  as  could  be 
designed.  This  Mars  and  Venus  was  originally  the 
property  of  Giorgio  Vasari,  who  says  that  he  has 
always  taken  much  pleasure  in  the  "  singular  ca- 
prices "  of  Piero.  He  speaks  of  Mars  "  lying  asleep 
in  a  meadow  enamelled  with  flowers;  hovering 
around  are  troops  of  Loves,  who  carry  off  the  hel- 
met, armlets,  and  other  portions  of  the  armour  of 
Mars;  a  grove  of  myrtles  forms  part  of  the  land- 
scape ;  and  here  there  is  a  Cupid  alarmed  at  the  sight 
of  a  rabbit:  the  doves  of  Venus  are  also  depicted, 
with  other  attributes  and  emblems  of  love." 

Veronese's  Mars  and  Venus,  in  the  Hermitage, 
shows  the  war-god  in  golden  armour,  with  a  deep 
rose-coloured  mantle,  kneeling  before  Venus,  who 
places  her  left  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Her  right 
hand  is  upon  her  heart.  The  scene  is  near  a  ruined 
edifice,  decorated  with  the  statue  of  a  faun.  A  mis- 
chievous Cupid  is  seen  tying  Mars'  right  foot  to  the 


Pallas,  /IDars,  /iDercurp,  anfc  IDulcan  137 

left  foot  of  Venue.  Another  little  Love,  in  the  dis- 
tance, holds  the  horse  of  the  war-god.  This  picture 
was  in  the  famous  collection  of  Christina  of  Sweden. 
Mars  and  Venus  are  supposed  to  be  portraits  of 
Alphonse  d'Este  and  his  mistress. 

In  Perugia  is  a  ceiling  painted  by  Perugino,  on 
which  a  medallion  shows  Mars,  in  helmet  and 
armour,  speeding  along  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  two 
rampant  steeds. 

In  Raphael's  Days,  Mars  stands  for  Tuesday. 
He  is  seen  in  a  curious,  high-backed  chariot,  like  a 
chair  on  wheels.  He  stands  at  ease,  a  graceful  figure, 
one  hand  on  his  hip,  and  the  spear  and  reins  in  the 
other.  Behind  him  rests  his  shield,  and  a  large 
swirling  scarf  of  drapery  circles  about  him  in  the 
breeze. 

The  armour  of  Mars  is  usually  mediaeval  plate- 
armour,  instead  of  the  classic  armour  formed  of 
overlapping  scales,  which  was  more  common  among 
the  ancients.  The  nomadic  tribes  constructed  coarse 
coats  of  mail,  described  by  Pausanias  as  being  made 
out  of  the  hoofs  of  horses,  split,  and  laid  one  over- 
lapping the  other,  making  of  them  "  something  like 
dragons'  scales,"  explains  Pausanias,  assuming  that 
every  one  must  know  these  by  sight;  but  in  case 
there  are  any  so  ignorant  as  to  be  unfamiliar  with 
the  anatomy  of  the  dragon,  he  adds,  "  Whoever  has 
not  yet  seen  a  dragon,  has,  at  any  rate,  seen  a  pine- 


138  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

cone  still  green.  These,"  he  says,  "  are  equally  like 
in  appearance  to  the  surface  of  this  armour." 

Hermes,  Mercury,  the  swift-footed  messenger  of 
the  gods,  whose  speed  is  usually  typified  by  the 
winged  heel,  is  also  a  son  of  Jupiter,  and  an  impor- 
tant element  in  nearly  all  myths.  He  stands,  as  it 
were,  for  the  vital  element,  the  emotional  quality; 
it  is  he  who  leads  the  three  goddesses  to  Paris  for 
judgment;  he  is  with  Perseus  when  he  slays  the 
Gorgon ;  he  presides  over  the  trial  of  Marsyas,  and 
he  leads  souls  on  their  long  dark  journey  to  Hades. 
While  there  are  not  as  many  actual  legends  about 
him  as  about  many  of  the  gods,  he  is  a  participator 
in  most  of  the  scenes  which  have  dramatic  possi- 
bilities. In  Greek  statues  he  is  usually  of  slender, 
active  form,  as  in  the  bronze  figure  found  at  Hercu- 
laneum,  which,  though  seated,  is  leaning  forward 
as  if  to  rise  at  an  instant's  notice,  and  in  the  muti- 
lated but  exquisite  Hermes  of  Praxiteles,  that  grace- 
ful fragment  of  lithe  manhood,  fascinating  even 
in  its  incompleteness. 

One  of  the  first  acts  recorded  of  Mercury's  youth, 
is  his  finding  of  the  shell  of  a  tortoise,  which  he 
hollowed  out,  and  across  which  he  stretched  strings, 
thus  inventing  the  lyre.  Next,  he  stole  and  hid  the 
oxen  which  Apollo  was  guarding.  "  Some  cows  are 
said  to  have  strayed  unobserved  into  the  plains  of 
Pylos."  Ovid  then  tells  us  that  Mercury  observed 


Pallas,  /Bars,  fl&ercurs,  ant>  Dulcan  139 

them,  and  "  with  his  usual  skill,  hides  them,  driven 
off,  in  the  woods."  Phoebus  would  not  allow  the 
theft  to  go  unpunished,  but  immediately  arrested  the 
young  rascal,  and  had  him  tried  by  the  Olympian 
Court.  The  guilty  Mercury  had  to  confess  that  two 
of  them  had  been  eaten,  but  he  restored  the  others, 
and  gave  the  lyre  to  Apollo,  in  payment  for  the  two 
which  he  was  unable  to  replace.  This  incident  occurs 
in  a  picture  by  Albano  in  the  Corsini  Gallery,  in  Flor- 
ence. Jupiter,  in  the  clouds,  is  pronouncing  sen- 
tence against  the  wayward  Hermes,  who,  with  glid- 
ing movement  and  considerable  lightness,  is  coming 
down  from  Olympus  through  the  air,  to  Apollo,  who 
is  resting  on  a  rock,  holding  his  herdsman's  stick. 
Mercury  gives  him  the  lyre;  at  the  same  time  he 
points  to  a  grove  near  by  where  the  Muses  are 
assembled,  and  where  Pegasus  stands,  thus  invoking 
the  god  of  Music  to  make  the  new  instrument  useful 
at  once.  The  returned  cattle  are  seen  at  the  left. 
In  Rome  Mercury  was  also  worshipped  as  the 
presiding  genius  of  business  prosperity,  and  small 
figures  of  him  adorned  the  shopping  district.  Ovid 
naively  remarks  when  some  dishonest  traders  are 
praying  to  Mercury  to  further  their  investments, 
"  Hearing  their  prayers,  Mercury  smiled,  remember- 
ing how  he,  too,  had  stolen  away  the  oxen."  In 
truth,  the  Greeks  and  Romans  had  no  use  for  gods 
who  had  no  human  frailties.  Keats  calls  him  "  foot- 


MO  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

feathered  Mercury,"  while  his  caduceus  is  described 
by  Goldsmith  as  — 

"a  snake-encircled   wand, 
By  Classic  authors  termed  Caduceus 
And  highly   famed  for  several  uses." 

There  is  an  interesting  Mercury  in  the  museum 
at  Naples,  —  an  ancient  mosaic  in  relief.  This  art 
of  raised  mosaic  was  a  curious  one,  and  it  is  very 
effective.  Mercury,  holding  a  dish  in  one  hand, 
places  his  other  hand  on  the  head  of  a  ram  at  his 
side.  The  folds  of  his  mantle  are  strikingly  well 
indicated. 

On  Perugino's  ceiling  in  Perugia  there  is  a  figure 
of  Mercury  in  a  medallion,  showing  the  god  holding 
the  Caduceus,  standing  on  one  leg,  being  drawn 
through  the  air  by  cocks  attached  to  his  car.  Mer- 
cury is  extremely  thin,  as  is  suitable  to  his  character. 
The  composition  is  rather  dry,  but  nevertheless  there 
is  a  certain  poetical  charm  in  all  these  classical  sub- 
jects as  treated  by  Perugino,  because  of  their  very 
rarity. 

Giovanni  da  Bologna  had  really  a  streak  of 
classic  art  in  him ;  his  Mercury  is  not  a  copy  of  any 
antique,  and  yet  it  is  conceived  as  a  Greek  would 
have  conceived  it.  Taine  compares  it  with  the 
statue  of  a  young  Greek  athlete  near  it.  "  The  for- 
mer," remarks  Taine,  "  springing  on  his  toe,  is  a 


Pallas,  flDars,  flDercun?,  ant>  Dulcan  141 

tour  de  force,  which  is  to  do  honour  to  the  artist,  and 
prove  an  attractive  spectacle  to  fix  the  eyes  of  vis- 
itors. The  young  Athenian,  on  the  contrary,  who 
says  nothing,  who  does  nothing,  who  is  content  to 
live,  is  an  effigy  of  the  city,  a  monument  of  its 
Olympic  victories,  an  example  for  all  the  youths  in 
its  gymnasia;  he  is  of  service  to  education  as  the 
statue  of  a  god  is  to  the  service  of  religion." 

There  is  a  picture  by  Correggio  of  Mercury  and 
Venus  playing  with  Cupid.  This  interpretation  of 
Hermes  is  quite  a  charming  one,  as  he  seems  as 
young  and  playful  in  spirit  as  Cupid  himself.  He 
is  smiling  with  the  arch  smile  of  the  faun,  and  wears 
the  flat-  winged  cap  in  which  he  usually  appears. 

Raphael's  Mercury  flying  through  the  air,  in  a 
fresco  in  the  Farnesina  Palace,  is  interesting.  The 
impression  of  descent  instead  of  ascent  is  skilfully 
given  by  the  movement  of  the  full  drapery  mantle 
which  floats  behind  him.  The  eyes  of  Mercury  are 
very  large,  and  the  countenance  that  of  what  we 
would  call  an  "  honest  rogue;  "  he  is  a  light-hearted 
Greek  god,  with  all  the  human  weaknesses  fully 
developed  in  him,  and  yet  with  no  conscience  to  keep 
him  awake  at  night !  He  is  nothing  but  an  awkward 
boy  in  the  Farnesina  fresco;  but  Raphael  has  por- 
trayed him  as  "  Wednesday  "  in  his  Days,  as  an 
older  and  more  staid  personage.  Here  he  sits  in  a 
chariot  which  is  drawn  by  cocks ;  the  reins  lie  across 


142  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

his  hand  in  so  careless  a  fashion  that  it  is  evident  that 
Hermes  does  not  fear  that  they  will  fly  away  with 
him.  He  carries  the  caduceus,  and  wears  the  winged 
cap,  as  he  does  in  the  Farnesina  fresco;  in  both  of 
these  representations,  his  heels,  too,  are  winged. 

Jacopo  Tatti,  better  known  as  Sansovino,  made  a 
statue  of  Mercury  for  the  Loggietta  of  the  Cam- 
panile at  Venice.  Here  it  would  seem  as  if  the  god 
were  especially  needed  in  his  famous  business  ca- 
pacity, on  account  of  the  great  lotteries  being  held  in 
the  Loggietta.  Mercury  stands  with  one  foot  on 
the  severed  head  of  a  giant,  and  raises  one  hand, 
while  he  looks  out  from  his  shell-like  niche  with  his 
head  on  one  side.  The  winged  cap  is  on  his  head, 
and  he  is  completely  clothed,  —  an  unusual  circum- 
stance in  figures  of  Mercury.  He  has  a  little  tunic, 
which,  buttoning  at  the  throat,  and  girt  with  a  sash 
at  the  hips,  falls  to  his  knees.  Below  this  garment 
he  wears  long  trousers,  which  are  turned  up 
about  the  ankles.  The  costume  is  suggestive  of 
pajamas.  The  whole  is  a  strange  conception  of 
Hermes.  He  has  no  caduceus. 

Turner's  Mercury  and  Argus  in  London  is  pri- 
marily a  landscape,  and  shows  a  deep  vale  with  a 
mountain  on  the  farther  side  of  a  river.  On  a 
bank  on  the  left  are  two  seated  figures,  —  Argus, 
the  many-eyed  servant  of  Juno  who  was  employed 
to  watch  the  white  heifer,  lo;  and  Mercury,  who 


Pallas,  flDars,  flfcercurs,  anfc  IDulcan  143 

has  been  sent  by  Jove  to  tire  Argus  out  so  that  he 
will  sleep.  Mercury  is  in  the  act  of  telling  long  and 
tedious  stories  to  Argus,  and  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river  may  be  seen  the  beautiful  heifer,  glow- 
ing white  among  the  thick  grasses  and  bushes. 

In  the  Mercury  and  Argus  by  Velasquez  in  the 
Prado,  Argus  is  seen  falling  limply  asleep  in  the 
deep  shadow,  while  Mercury  steals  up  beside  him, 
half  crawling ;  the  heifer  lies  behind  Mercury.  His 
winged  cap  and  the  sharp  horns  of  lo  show  up 
clearly  against  a  sunset  sky  with  weird  effect. 

Mercury  and  the  Woodman  by  Salvator  Rosa 
annoys  Ruskin  because  of  its  atmospheric  effects, 
which  he  pronounces  impossible.  He  particularly 
objects,  and  with  reason,  to  the  "  pure  sky-blue 
mountain." 

In  Munich  is  a  picture  by  Jan  Both,  of  Mercury 
and  Argus.  This  is  really  a  landscape  with  figures 
in  the  foreground.  By  a  curious  arrangement  of 
lights,  the  artist  has  portrayed  a  dark  background, 
the  sun  having  set,  while  the  figures  are  in  broad 
daylight!  In  Munich  there  is  also  a  painting  by 
Forest  representing  Mercury  slaying  Argus,  who 
is  falling  over  a  rock  upon  which  Juno,  with  two 
peacocks,  sits  triumphant.  Mercury  is  preparing 
for  flight. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  interpretations  of  Mer- 
cury is  the  figure  in  Mantegna's  Parnassus,  in  the 


144  Classic  /IDstbs  in  Hrt 

Louvre,  where  the  volatile  deity  is  seen  leading 
Pegasus,  and  casting  a  smiling  glance  backward  at 
the  Muses. 

The  Mercury  in  Botticelli's  Primavera  is  an 
ascetic;  although  thin,  wiry,  and  lithe  enough  to  be 
the  messenger  of  the  gods,  one  feels  that  he  is  a  per- 
son who  would  have  serious  scruples  about  killing 
Argus  to  order,  or  in  arranging  a  rendezvous  for 
Jove! 

A  quaint  conceit  is  recorded  by  Vasari,  of  Domen- 
ico  Beccafumi,  who  painted  a  fanciful  picture  of 
the  Olympian  deities  striving  to  bind  Mercury. 
They  have  laid  him  in  a  crucible,  strapped,  while 
Vulcan  and  Pluto  build  a  fire  about  him;  but  just 
as  they  expect  to  see  him  turned  into  a  solid  metal, 
he  flies  off,  dissolved  in  smoke  and  vapours. 

The  fire-god,  Vulcan,  must  early  have  held  a 
prominent  place  in  myth.  In  lands  where  lightning 
and  volcanic  eruptions  did  much  damage,  the  power 
of  flame  must  always  have  been  respected.  Some- 
times it  was  as  a  baleful  deity,  and  sometimes  as  a 
benign  one,  that  he  was  recognized ;  but  his  virility 
can  never  have  been  questioned.  He  is  supposed  to 
have  worked  at  forging  steel  with  the  Cyclops,  in  a 
cavern;  and  it  is  in  this  capacity  that  he  usually 
appears  in  art.  Hesiod  has  drawn  the  scene  in  his 
Theogony : 


frallas,  flDars,  flDercurs,  ant)  IDulcan  us 

"  Under  the  caverns  of  the  sacred  ground 
Where  Vulcan  works  and  restless  anvils  sound ; 
Beneath  the  hand  divine  the  iron  grows 
Ductile,  and  liquid  from  the  furnace  flows." 

Vulcan  and  the  Cyclops  made  the  armour  of 
Achilles.  Venus  was  the  spouse  of  the  grim 
armourer,  and  often  appears  in  the  cavern  of  the 
Cyclops  with  her  lord.  No  wonder  the  handsome 
young  god  Mars  attracted  her  more  than  did  this 
surly  personage. 

Velasquez's  treatment  of  the  Forge  of  Vulcan  is 
one  of  the  most  beautifully  rugged  and  yet  refined 
examples  of  Spanish  art.  It  is  in  the  Prado  at 
Madrid.  A  dramatic  moment  has  been  chosen  for 
illustration.  The  sun-god  Apollo  has  just  descended 
to  the  Cyclops'  forge  to  impart  to  Vulcan  the  news 
that  he  has  discovered  the  intrigue  between  his  wife, 
Venus,  and  Mars.  It  was  a  little  inconsiderate  in  him 
to  break  the  news  to  Vulcan  in  the  midst  of  his  fellow 
workers,  but  it  makes  a  better  picture.  Phoebus, 
with  light  irradiating  in  an  exquisite  way  from  his 
head,  stands  at  the  left,  in  the  attitude  of  one  who 
relates  a  narrative;  one  hand  is  raised,  and  his  re- 
marks punctuated  with  his  forefinger.  Vulcan, 
listening,  enraged,  shows  his  fury  in  his  twisted 
shoulders  and  his  fiery  eyes.  The  Cyclops  are  stand- 
ing by,  also  listening ;  they  have  paused  a  moment  in 
their  work,  and  this  halt  is  well  portrayed.  The 


146  Classic  /IDstbs  in  Htt 

focus  of  interest  is  directed  to  Apollo,  and  the  picture 
is  well  balanced,  in  form  and  in  chiaroscuro. 

The  Forge  of  Vulcan  by  Tintoretto,  in  the  Ducal 
Palace  in  Venice,  is  hardly  a  good  example  of  this 
master.  Not  only  are  the  muscular  forms  of  the 
four  workers  overdrawn,  but  the  figure  with  its  back 
to  the  spectator,  the  chief  and  central  figure  of  the 
group,  is  in  shockingly  bad  drawing.  The  legs  and 
feet,  hideous,  sprawling,  drawn  with  rippling  lines 
in  irrelevant  bulges,  could  hardly  be  worse.  Some- 
times Tintoretto  did  work  which  would  disgrace  a 
tyro ;  again,  he  painted  pictures  that  no  man  before 
or  since  has  excelled. 

In  the  great  barn-like  studio  in  Brussels  where 
the  works  of  the  eccentric  genius  Wiertz  are  all  col- 
lected in  their  weird  immensity,  there  is  a  picture 
of  the  Forge  of  Vulcan.  Wiertz  has  painted  the 
armourer  at  work  upon  an  anvil,  with  a  stern  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  while  Venus  caresses  him, 
standing  by  him,  ministered  to  with  wine  and  grapes, 
by  various  nymphs  who  fill  the  right  of  the  picture. 
On  the  left  in  the  darkness  are  seen  the  heavy  but 
undefined  bodies  of  the  other  workers.  A  Cupid 
leans  on  Venus's  knee,  looking  angry  also.  Perhaps 
the  scene  represents  Venus  trying  to  appease  Vul- 
can's wrath  after  he  has  heard  of  her  escapade  with 
Mars. 

Among  the  drawings  in  the  Louvre  is  one  by 


pallas,  /IDars,  flDercurs,  anb  Iflulcan  147 

Annibale  Caracci  of  the  Forge  of  Vulcan.  The 
sturdy  armourer  is  on  his  knees,  holding  the  helmet 
of  Achilles  on  the  anvil  with  pincers,  while  the 
three  Cyclops  are  drawing  off  to  hammer  it.  Their 
hammers  are  lifted  each  at  a  different  angle,  so  that 
the  strokes  shall  be  timed  to  follow  one  another  in 
quick  succession.  At  the  left  a  glimpse  of  Venus 
and  Cupid  is  vouchsafed,  but  they  are  only  indicated, 
as  it  were,  on  the  margin  of  the  scene.  The  composi- 
tion is  excellent,  and  the  figure  of  the  kneeling  Vul- 
can especially  fine. 

Giulio  Romano's  Vulcan  at  the  Forge  was  painted 
over  the  mantel  in  the  house  of  a  friend  of  his,  an 
organist  in  Mantua.  But  there  is  a  similar  picture 
in  the  Louvre.  Vulcan  is  holding  in  a  pair  of  tongs 
an  iron  which  he  is  forging  into  an  arrow-head; 
Venus,  near  by,  is  tempering  the  finished  arrows 
in  a  vase,  and  then  putting  them  into  the  quiver  of 
Cupid. 

Domenichino,  too,  painted  a  Forge  of  Vulcan, 
in  the  Villa  Aldobrandini  in  Rome. 

Thorwaldsen's  relief  of  the  Forge  of  Vulcan  is 
beautifully  classic  and  very  satisfactory.  The 
figures,  on  a  single  plane,  without  deep  perspective, 
express  their  meaning  clearly  and  easily,  and  are  all 
well  composed.  Vulcan,  at  the  left,  is  hammering 
an  arrow  at  his  anvil;  Venus,  dipping  the  finished 
arrows  in  a  bowl,  is  turning  to  look  upon  the  figure 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


of  the  handsome  young  Mars,  who,  led  by  Cupid, 
brings  a  broken  arrow  to  be  repaired. 

There  is  a  picture  of  the  Forge,  too,  by  Cornelis 
Schut,  where  Vulcan  and  three  others  are  seen 
working  at  an  anvil,  while  a  boy  brings  coals.  At 
the  right  is  seen  a  cannon,  evidently  recently  forged 
by  the  armourers. 

In  the  Hermitage  Gallery  is  a  painting  of  the 
Forge  of  Vulcan  by  Luca  Giordano. 

In  the  Forge  of  Vulcan  in  the  Louvre,  painted 
by  Luini,  the  figure  of  Mars  is  firm,  but  the  others 
are  rather  invertebrate.  Venus,  in  her  attitude, 
holding  Cupid  standing  on  her  knee,  is  unpleasantly 
suggestive  of  a  preliminary  study  for  the  pose  of 
a  Madonna. 

What  could  be  more  fanciful,  more  unreal,  than 
the  fairy-palace  entitled  the  Forge  of  Vulcan,  by 
Boucher!  A  French  courtier  of  the  period,  seen, 
(an  uncommon  circumstance)  devoid  of  his  cloth- 
ing, sits,  masquerading  as  Vulcan,  on  an  indefinite 
couch-like  bank  of  rocks  and  clouds  combined. 
Smiling,  with  his  best  society  manner,  he  holds  aloft 
a  sword,  in  its  scabbard,  the  whole  wound  with  a 
sash.  Beside  him  are  an  anvil,  a  vise,  and  several 
implements  of  the  armourer's  craft.  Opposite  him, 
on  clouds,  with  a  background  of  sky  and  general 
fleeciness  of  atmosphere,  sits  Venus,  simpering,  with 
Thetis  and  a  couple  of  attendant  Graces.  Cupids  are 


Pallas,  /Cars,  flDercun?,  anfc  Dulcan  149 

dotted  about  wherever  they  are  demanded  by  the 
exigencies  of  the  'composition.  Two  of  them  hold 
aloft  a  gorgeous  helmet  heavily  crested  with  ostrich 
plumes.  The  whole  scene  is  laid  in  a  cave  of  cloud- 
stuff,  and  there  are  no  suggestions  of  such  unrefined 
people  as  Cyclops  about!  Doves  and  wreathes  of 
flowers  are  thrown  in  at  intervals. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

BACCHUS    AND    HIS   TRAIN 

BACCHUS  is  a  familiar  figure  in  ancient  and 
modern  art.  The  son  of  Jupiter  and  Semele,  he 
presides  over  wine  and  conviviality  in  general.  He- 
siod,  in  his  Theogony,  introduces  him  thus: 

"Cadmean  Semele,  a  mortal  dame 
Gave  to  th'  Almighty's  love  a  child  of  fame, 
Bacchus,  from  whom  our  cheerful  spirits  flow; 
Mother  and  son  alike  immortal  now." 

Bacchus  has  much  popular  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion, as  irresponsible,  cheerful  beings  usually  have. 
"  He  shall  know  Bacchus,  the  son  of  Jupiter,"  says 
Euripides,  "  who  is  in  fact  to  men  at  once  the  most 
terrible  and  the  mildest  of  deities."  He  is  described 
again  by  Euripides :  "  Whose  hair  is  fair  and 
curled,  and  his  head  scented,  and  his  black  eyes  have 
all  the  charm  of  Aphrodite."  Tenderly  Euripides 
speaks  of  Bacchus  as  "  he  who  produces  the  rich 

clustering  vine  for  mortals." 

150 


JSaccbus  ant)  t>is  ZErain  is1 

Bacchus,  on  his  entrance  in  the  drama,  speaks 
of  himself  as  follows :  "  I  have  come  to  this  city 
first  of  the  Grecian  .  .  .  fitting  a  deer-skin  on  my 
body,  and  taking  a  thyrsus  in  my  hand,  an  ivy-clad 
weapon."  And  again :  "  The  son  of  Semele  has 
invented  the  liquid  drink  of  the  grape,  and  intro- 
duced it  among  mortals,  which  delivers  miserable 
mortals  from  grief,  when  they  are  filled  with  the 
stream  of  the  vine ;  and  gives  sleep  and  oblivion  of 
daily  evils;  nor  is  there  any  other  medicine  for 
troubles.  He  who  is  a  god  is  poured  out  in  libations 
to  the  gods,  that  by  his  means  men  may  have  good 
things." 

In  archaic  art  Bacchus  had  a  beard,  and  was  a 
mature  man.  He  was  a  person  old  enough  to  know 
better,  as  one  might  say,  so  that  he  was  a  deliberate 
transgressor.  Later  a  more  indulgent  set  of  dev- 
otees chose  to  think  of  the  vine-god  as  an  effemi- 
nate young  man :  "  In  the  bloom  of  youth,"  Callis- 
tratus  says,  "  soft  and  voluptuous."  The  rollicking 
youth  soon  became  the  accepted  type  of  Bacchus; 
he  was  generally  clad  in  the  skin  of  a  faun  or  a 
panther,  adjusted  carelessly,  sometimes  over  a  short 
tunic,  and  sometimes  forming  his  sole  garment. 
His  feet  were  protected  by  high  boots,  and  he  carried 
a  thyrsus  as  his  attribute,  while  a  panther  accom- 
panied him.  Bacchus,  bereft  of  his  reason  by  Juno, 
wandered  through  the  world  as  it  was  then  known 


is*  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

to  the  Greeks.  On  his  return  from  his  travels,  he 
became  the  centre  of  a  cult  of  adorers,  and  has  ever 
since  been  the  recognized  patron  of  dissipation,  yet 
withal  of  a  generally  benignant  character.  Among 
the  most  interesting  statues  of  Bacchus  is  that  by 
Michelangelo,  in  the  Bargello  in  Florence.  It  is 
rather  more  than  life-size,  and  shows  the  youth 
somewhat  overcome  with  wine.  It  is  not  what 
might  be  called  a  comfortable  presentment  of  this 
condition.  Bacchus  is  not  simply  jovial  in  his  tipsi- 
ness;  his  eyes  stare  wide  open,  and  his  look  is  con- 
fused. The  action  of  the  figure  is  marvellous,  — 
the  exact  way  in  which  Michelangelo  has  caught 
and  portrayed  the  transient  effect  of  a  stagger,  is 
beyond  praise.  He  holds  a  cup  in  his  hand,  raised 
toward  his  lips,  while  his  head  is  crowned  with 
grapes. 

Another  quite  different  treatment  of  the  figure 
of  the  god  of  wine  is  by  Sansovino.  As  it  is  also 
in  the  Bargello,  it  may  be  easily  compared  with 
that  of  Michelangelo.  Bacchus  is  in  a  light-hearted, 
merry  mood,  but  is  firm  and  steady  on  his  feet.  He 
lifts  high  above  his  head  the  flat  cup  from  which 
he  is  about  to  drink,  and  smiles  as  he  contemplates 
its  brimming  contents.  The  figure  is  slender  and 
supple,  and  the  face  young  and  handsome.  Sanso- 
vino's  Bacchus  has  about  it  one  feature  which,  ac- 
cording to  Vasari,  had  not  been  attempted  before 


JSaccbus  anfc  Ibis  Urain  153 

by  any  artist  in  marble.  One  arm  is  raised,  entirely 
detached  from  the  figure,  and  in  the  hand  is  a  tazza, 
or  flat  cup,  cut  in  the  same  piece  of  stone.  The  figure 
is  well  balanced,  and  is  seen  to  equal  advantage  from 
all  points  of  view.  Symonds  thinks  it  really  superior 
to  Michelangelo's  so  far  as  classic  feeling  is  con- 
cerned. There  is  a  story  that  the  boy  who  posed 
for  this  figure  of  Bacchus  was  driven  insane  by 
the  constant  exposure  in  the  cold  studio,  and  in  his 
madness  he  would  continually  assume  this  pose. 

The  charming  child  Bacchus  of  Guido  Reni,  in  the 
Pitti  Palace,  is  a  mirthful  little  elf,  full  of  mischief, 
and  preparing  for  his  future  career  by  raising  a 
brimming  bowl  of  wine  to  his  lips. 

Bouguereau's  Youth  of  Bacchus  is  one  of  the 
merriest  and  prettiest  sylvan  scenes  imaginable. 
The  fair-haired  child,  raised  on  high  in  the  midst 
of  a  band  of  nude  revellers,  makes  a  beautiful  centre 
of  interest.  Here  may  be  seen  Euripides's  "  Bac- 
chant rejoicing  like  a  foal  with  its  mother  at  pas- 
ture," and  "  stirring  its  swift  foot  in  the  dance." 
The  individual  figures  in  this  painting  are  of  won- 
derful power. 

Pictures  of  Bacchus  as  a  single  figure  or  attended 
by  satyrs  and  nymphs  are  too  numerous  to  be  cata- 
logued here;  among  them,  however,  are  two,  one 
especially  pleasing  and  one  especially  unpleasant, 
which  deserve  mention. 


iS4  Classic  fl&Btbs  in  Hrt 


The  first  of  these  is  in  the  Louvre,  —  a  Bacchus 
usually  supposed  to  be  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  It  rep- 
resents a  youth,  in  figure  nearly  life-size,  seated  at 
the  foot  of  a  hill,  and  holding,  carelessly  laid  against 
his  shoulder,  the  thyrsus,  or  Bacchic  wand.  His  legs 
are  crossed,  and  his  attitude  easy,  except  for  the 
rather  forced  pointing  of  one  forefinger  toward  the 
thyrsus,  in  a  way  which  Da  Vinci  often  adopted  in 
his  figures.  The  face  is  like  that  of  a  beautiful  girl, 
clustering  short  curls  framing  it  in  below  its  wreath 
of  leaves.  The  expression  is  smiling,  and  the  eyes 
surrounded  with  a  heavy  "  make-up."  The  whole 
composition  recalls  St.  John  the  Baptist  in  the 
desert,  and,  if  the  thyrsus  were  only  a  cross  instead 
of  an  emblem  of  dissipation,  the  picture  might,  with 
equal  propriety,  be  called  St.  John  the  Baptist.  But  it 
is  a  most  beautiful  study,  and  thoroughly  decorative. 

The  other  is  by  Rubens,  and  is  in  the  Uffizi. 
As  an  absolutely  disagreeable  study  of  a  fat,  ill- 
natured,  self-indulgent  beast,  it  is  quite  the  most 
perfect  of  its  kind,  which,  let  us  be  thankful,  is  not 
prevalent  in  art.  The  revolting  nude  creature  is 
sitting  upon  a  cask,  and  an  equally  dissipated  bac- 
chante is  filling  his  glass,  while  he  looks  around, 
scowling,  as  if  to  chide  a  Silenus  who  is  drinking 
from  a  pitcher  on  his  left  side.  Two  tipsy  babies 
accompany  him,  and  his  foot  rests  upon  the  head 
of  an  execrably  drawn  panther.  He  looks  like  an 


LEONARDO   DA    VINCI    (ATTRIBUTED).  —  BACCHUS. 


JBaccbus  anfc  Dis  {Train  155 

overfed  Nero,  and  is  far  removed  from  the  jovial 
attractive  god  of  Greek  myth. 

There  is  a  quaint  little  picture  in  Venice,  said  to 
be  by  Giovanni  Bellini.  It  must  be  a  very  early 
work  if  this  is  the  case.  It  represents  Bacchus 
Triumphant  in  his  ear,  drawn  by  a  few  ridiculously 
inadequate  straining  infants.  Bacchus,  almost  thin, 
and  quite  sober,  holds  in  his  hand  a  harmless-looking 
little  basket  of  fruit,  while  a  nude  personage,  with 
a  very  flowing  scarf  of  drapery  and  a  shield  and 
spear,  is  running  beside  the  chariot.  The  picture 
is  almost  comic  in  its  immaturity,  as  a  design  and 
as  a  result.  It  was  one  of  a  series  of  five  panels. 
They  are  about  eight  inches  high,  on  wood,  and 
painted  in  tempera.  They  were  probably  used 
originally  as  ornaments  to  some  piece  of  furniture. 
Ruskin  expresses  considerable  interest  in  them. 
Crowe  speaks  of  the  Bacchus  as  having  "  vivid 
colour,  easy  action,  and  classic  shape."  Indeed,  Lay- 
ard  alludes  to  these  paintings  in  the  very  highest 
terms,  saying :  "  They  are  remarkable  for  their 
exquisite  grace  of  the  figures,  and  for  depth  and 
richness  of  colouring,  and  for  poetical  feeling,  — 
qualities  which  place  them  almost  on  a  level  with 
the  finest  productions  of  classic  art."  This  criticism 
certainly  applies  more  to  the  other  panels  than  to 
the  Bacchus. 

A  Bacchus  by  Cornells  van  Haarlem,  in  the  Rot- 


156  Classic  flDstbs  in  art 

terdam  Museum,  is  hard  and  heavy  in  colour,  but 
well  drawn.  For  a  Dutch  artist,  born  in  1420, 
Haarlem  approaches  nearer  than  most  of  his  con- 
temporaries the  Italian  manner. 

The  pictures  of  Bacchus  which  are  most  interest- 
ing are  those  dealing  with  his  marriage  with 
Ariadne.  When  Theseus  so  meanly  sneaked  off 
and  left  the  sleeping  maiden  on  the  Isle  of  Naxos, 
it  proved  to  be  an  evil  out  of  which  good  was  des- 
tined to  come.  For  the  god  Bacchus  was  disporting 
himself  on  the  same  island  upon  that  very  day,  and, 
chancing  to  come  upon  the  deserted  maiden,  he  made 
so  favourable  an  impression  that  she  promptly 
transferred  her  allegiance,  as  people  of  primitive 
tastes  are  reported  to  have  done,  from  her  faithless 
lover  to  this  new  and  ardent  admirer.  The  subject 
of  their  marriage  is  a  favourite  one  with  artists  of 
the  Renaissance. 

The  most  beautiful  picture  of  this  incident  is 
by  Tintoretto,  in  the  Ducal  Palace  in  Venice.  The 
picture  is  in  the  Sala  dell  Anti-Collegio,  on  the  left 
as  you  enter.  It  has  all  the  Greek  feeling  in  it 
which  the  myth  demands,  with  all  the  richness  of 
tone  that  Venetian  art  could  give.  The  colouring 
is  nearly  all  in  soft  tones  of  brown,  yet  it  is  so  skil- 
fully managed  that  each  object  seems  to  have  such 
colour  as  befits  it.  Ruskin  alludes  to  it  as  being 
"  miserably  faded,"  but  says  that  "  it  was  once  one 


JSaccbus  anfc  t)is  ZErain  157 

of  the  noblest  pictures  in  the  world."  Ariadne  sits 
by  the  river  shore,  her  mantle  falling  across  her 
knees;  she  extends  her  right  hand  in  welcome  to 
Bacchus,  who  is  advancing  from  below,  and  who 
holds  the  ring  with  which  he  is  to  wed  her.  The 
delicious  aerial  poise  of  Venus,  who  hovers  above 
the  pair,  ready  to  crown  Ariadne  with  stars,  cannot 
be  too  highly  praised.  The  faultless  figure  is  fore- 
shortened wonderfully,  and  seems  to  be  sweeping 
through  the  air  like  a  bird.  Bacchus  is  a  figure  of 
infinite  grace,  languid,  yet  eager,  —  beautiful, 
crowned  and  girt  with  vine-leaves,  an  ideal  concep- 
tion of  physical  pleasure.  Ruskin  says  :  "  The  de- 
sign and  forms  of  the  leafage  round  the  head  of  the 
Bacchus  and  the  floating  grace  of  the  female  figure 
above,  will,  however,  always  give  interest  to  this 
picture,  unless  it  be  repainted."  The  lights  all  fall 
from  the  left  of  the  picture,  illuminating  first  the 
beautiful  form  of  Ariadne,  and  seeming,  through 
her,  to  be  transmitted  to  the  others.  The  sea  view 
beyond  is  a  very  imaginative  and  soft  bit  of  colour. 
Altogether,  as  a  painted  love-lyric,  it  has  hardly  an 
equal.  Symonds  expresses  himself  strongly  in  re- 
gard to  this  work  of  art :  "  In  this  picture  we  have 
the  most  perfect  of  all  modern  attempts  to  realize 
an  antique  myth;  more  perfect  than  Raphael's 
Galatea,  or  Titian's  meeting  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne, 
or  Botticelli's  Birth  of  Venus  from  the  Sea."  Sy- 


158  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

monds  wearily  relates  how,  while  he  sat,  rapt  in 
wonder,  before  this  picture,  some  Germans  saun- 
tered in  to  look  at  it.  After  a  moment  one  of  them 
remarked,  "  Bacchus  was  the  wine-god,"  and  they 
moved  on. 

Speaking  of  Venus,  Taine  says :  "  She  is  the 
sublime  beauty  of  nude  flesh  as  she  appears  on  rising 
from  the  waves  vivified  by  the  sun  and  graduated  by 
shadows.  The  goddess  swims  in  liquid  light  .  .  . 
as  a  fish  swims  in  a  lake,  and  the  atmosphere  em- 
braces and  caresses  her."  Benson  speaks  of  the 
"  lovely  amber  and  silver  tones  of  this  picture."  "  In 
no  other  picture,"  says  Woltmann,  "  has  a  poem  of 
feeling  and  fancy,  a  romance  of  varied  lights  and 
shadows,  and  symphony  of  delicately  blended  hues, 
a  play  of  attitude  and  movement  (transitory,  but  in 
no  sense  forced  or  violent)  been  more  successfully 
expressed,  by  means  more  sirqple,  or  with  effect 
more  satisfactory.  Something  of  the  mytho-poetic 
faculty  must  have  survived  in  Tintoretto,  and  en- 
abled him  to  inspire  the  Greek  tale  with  this  intense 
vitality  of  beauty." 

Symonds  calls  the  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  of  Tinto- 
retto "  that  most  perfect  lyric  of  the  sensuous  fancy 
from  which  sensuality  is  absent."  Paul  Veronese 
never  reached  this  ideal;  these  silver  lights  and 
transparent  golden  shadows  were  beyond  his  gay 
decorative  sense;  Titian,  too,  never  equalled  the 


Baccbus  anfc  Ibis  Urain  159 

floating  movements  of  Venus.  D'Annunzio  illumi- 
nates with  his  poetic  touch  the  undercurrent  of  mean- 
ing in  this  beautiful  picture,  calling  it  an  Allegory 
of  Autumn,  typifying  the  perennial  glory  of  Venice. 
"  Seated  on  the  shore  like  a  divinity,  Venice  receives 
the  ring  from  the  young  vine-crowned  god  who  has 
descended  into  the  water,  while  Beauty  soars  on 
her  wings  with  the  diadem  of  stars  to  crown  the 
wonderful  alliance." 

Luca  Giordano's  Ariadne  in  Dresden  is  lying  still 
sleeping,  while  Bacchus  and  his  train  have  just 
arrived  upon  the  scene,  and  are  about  to  awake  her. 

In  one  particular  the  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  by 
Titian,  in  the  National  Gallery  in  London,  lacks  con- 
viction, because  Ariadne  is  not  attractive.  She  is  a 
short,  sturdy  little  woman,  with  a  long  nose  and  a 
high  forehead,  with  voluminous  drapery,  which  she 
gathers  up  about  her  in  such  a  way  that  it  empha- 
sizes her  stockiness.  As  she  walks  through  the 
woods  at  the  left  of  the  picture,  with  a  protesting 
hand  raised,  there  seems  to  be  no  incentive  for  Bac- 
chus to  leap  so  incontinently  from  his  car  to  pursue 
her.  For  he  is,  indeed,  leaping  —  rather  flying  — 
right  over  the  side  of  the  chariot.  The  leopards,  who 
draw  the  car,  turn  and  look  at  each  other,  as  if  they 
were  saying,  "  What  next  ?  "  They  were  probably 
used  to  sudden  enthusiasms.  A  Bacchanalian  revel 
is  taking  place  on  the  right.  Nymphs  and  satyrs 


160  Classic  fl&stbs  in  Hrt 

are  dancing  and  playing  on  cymbals.  A  little  faun 
in  the  central  foreground  is  stepping  along  in  high 
spirits,  singing,  with  his  head  thrown  back.  A 
spaniel  is  barking  at  him.  One  satyr  waves  aloft 
the  leg  of  a  deer,  while  he  holds  a  thyrsus  in  his 
other  hand.  Another  is  completely  entwined  with 
snakes.  Ruskin  would  call  our  attention  to  the  vine- 
leaves  in  this  picture. 

A  ceiling  fresco  in  Venice  by  Tiepolo  represents 
Bacchus  and  Ariadne  reclining  upon  the  clouds,  in  a 
kind  of  apotheosis  of  debauch.  The  wine-god,  with 
his  coarse  face  turned  toward  the  rather  vacant 
countenance  of  Ariadne,  holds  above  her  head 
a  crown  of  stars,  while  he  hugs  lovingly  a  chianti 
flask  under  the  other  arm.  Cupids  with  grapes  are 
falling  about  in  a  way  that  suggests  danger  to  those 
in  the  apartment  below. 

The  marriage  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  by  Guido 
Reni  in  the  Academy  of  San  Luca  in  Rome,  is 
treated  in  a  very  serious  and  almost  reverent  spirit. 
Ariadne,  seated  upon  a  rock,  and  partly  draped,  is 
welcoming  the  handsome  young  Bacchus  whom 
Venus  is  presenting  to  her.  Bacchus  is  perfectly 
sober.  While  he  has  not  the  sweet  grace  of  Tinto- 
retto's hero,  he  is  still  a  manly  earnest  young  wooer. 
His  hand  is  placed  on  his  heart  in  a  conventional 
pose,  but  the  general  attitude  of  the  figure  is  good, 
and  the  action  of  the  head  especially  pleasing.  In 


JSaccbus  ant>  Ibis  Urain  161 

the  background  a  nymph  is  giving  a  small  faun  a 
drink  from  a  flask,  which  he  seems  to  be  enjoying 
immensely.  The  Venus  is  a  rather  ineffective  figure, 
with  her  hand  partly  extended  in  the  recognized 
gesture  of  introduction.  Cupids,  one  with  the  starry 
crown,  and  one  with  bow  and  arrows,  fly  above. 
Fauns  are  seen  dancing  on  the  beach. 

In  Munich  is  a  Bacchus  by  Breughel,  sitting  under 
an  apple-tree,  with  satyrs,  Bacchantes,  and  Cupids 
about  him.  These  are  offering  him  wine.  In  the 
foreground  are  vegetables,  fruits,  and  dead  game. 
In  the  landscape  background  are  men  ploughing, 
and  others  gathering  grapes.  This  picture  is  one  in 
a  series  of  four  by  the  same  artist,  representing  the 
Seasons.  The  Bacchus  typifies  Autumn. 

Bacchus  is  the  subject,  often  together  with  Ari- 
adne, of  pictures  by  Giulio  Romano,  Garofolo,  Car- 
pione,  Guido  Reni,  Miglione,  Luca  Giordano,  Balen, 
Jordaens,  Meiris,  and  Plazer,  all  in  the  Dresden 
Gallery. 

The  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  of  1'Orbetto  is  in  the 
Hermitage.  The  two  lovers  are  seated  on  the  shore 
of  the  Isle  of  Naxos,  while  Venus  crowns  Ariadne. 
In  the  distance,  may  be  seen  a  drunken  Silenus  sup- 
ported by  two  satyrs. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  Bacchanale  by  Titian.  Ariadne 
lies,  nude,  in  the  foreground,  while  in  the  back- 
ground a  Silenus,  lying  among  the  grapes,  squeezes 


162  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


them  in  his  hands,  and  dancers  drink  from  the 
stream  of  juice  which  proceeds  from  them.  The 
ship  of  Theseus  is  seen  sailing  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

The  well-known  ancient  statue  of  the  sleeping 
Ariadne,  with  its  restless  arms,  and  vast  limp  shoul- 
ders and  limbs,  is  familiar  to  all.  She  is  a  massive 
woman,  who  looks  as  if  she  would  be  able  to  avenge 
herself  if  ever  she  met  her  deserter  again.  But  in 
spite  of  the  colossal  proportions  of  Ariadne,  the 
statue  is  most  graceful,  and  deserves  its  popularity. 

In  the  Vatican  is  a  Greek  sarcophagus  on  which  is 
represented  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  on  the  Isle  of 
Naxos. 

Among  the  ancient  Herculaneum  frescoes  in  the 
Naples  Museum,  is  a  Bacchus  and  Ariadne. 
Ariadne  is  sleeping  with  her  head  on  the  knee  of 
a  winged  genius.  Bacchus  is  being  led  by  Cupid 
toward  her.  A  faun  is  pulling  Silenus  up  the  hill 
at  the  left,  and  the  train  of  Bacchus  follows. 

Ariadne  by  Danneker  at  Frank  fort-on-the-Main, 
is  a  well-modelled  group,  representing  the  nymph 
half-reclining  upon  the  back  of  a  panther,  and  look- 
ing eagerly  up.  The  head  is  not  interesting,  however, 
and  the  composition  lacks  virility. 

The  satyrs  and  fauns  were  wild  woodland  crea- 
tures. They  occur  in  Bacchic  scenes  as  frequently 
as  Cupids  occur  in  pictures  of  Venus.  Hesiod  sums 


JSaccbus  ant)  Die  Urain  163 

them  up  in  a  drastic  sentence :  "  They  are  a  cowardly 
race,  and  good  for  nothing." 

The  well-known  Faun  of  the  Capitol,  immortal- 
ized by  Hawthorne,  has  no  brutish  attributes  except 
the  slightly  pointed  ears,  which  play  such  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  romance  of  the  "  Marble  Faun." 
He  is  a  charming  figure,  slender  and  graceful  in 
poise. 

The  tipsy  satyr  at  Naples  is  similar  in  form,  as 
he  tosses  back  his  head  and  snaps  his  fingers  in 
merriment,  stepping  airily  as  one  who  has  not  yet 
gotten  beyond  the  exhilarating  stage  of  drunkenness. 

There  is  a  young  satyr  by  Jordaens  in  the  Trip- 
penhuis  in  Amsterdam,  forcefully  painted,  the  flesh- 
tones  reminding  one  of  Rubens. 

The  Satyr  and  Nymph  by  Giorgione  in  the  Pitti 
Palace  is  an  exquisite  bit  of  subdued  yet  glowing 
colour;  "All  is  bathed  in  shadow,"  writes  Taine, 
in  his  "  Italy,"  in  speaking  of  this  picture.  "  but  the 
ardent,  motionless  face,  lovely  shoulder  and  bosom, 
all  issue  forth  like  an  apparition;  one  must  see  the 
living  flesh  emerging  from  the  deep  shadow,  and  the 
intense  splendour  of  scarlet  tones  in  deep  and  bright 
gradation  from  the  blackness  of  night  to  the  radiance 
of  open  day." 

Silenus  was  the  Greek  origin  of  a  type  called 
Sileni,  who,  in  Greek  art,  were  usually  portrayed 
as  comic  characters.  They  were  an  older  species 


1 64  Classic  flDptbs  tn  Hrt 

of  satyr,  with  heavy  limbs,  usually  fat,  and  carrying 
wine-skins.  The  Silenus  in  the  Vatican,  bearing 
the  infant  Bacchus  in  his  arms,  is  much  more  re- 
spectable than  most  of  his  comrades,  and  is  no  longer 
in  the  flabby  fat  stage.  Doctor  Moore  alludes  to  him 
as  "  one  of  the  gayest  figures  that  can  be  imagined." 
Pausanias  infers  that  Sileni  are  mortal,  "  from  their 
tombs;  for  there  is  a  tomb  of  one  Silenus  in  the 
country  of  the  Hebrews,  and  of  another  at  Per- 
gamus." 

Pan  himself,  the  presiding  genius  of  these  wild 
woodland  mongrels,  appears  occasionally  in  art,  but 
is  as  likely  to  be  represented  by  a  troop  of  his  kind. 

Among  the  Pompeian  frescoes  in  Naples  is  a  fly- 
ing figure  of  a  Bacchante,  carrying  a  long  and  grace- 
ful thyrsus  and  a  tazza  swinging  in  her  right  hand. 

There  is  a  reclining  Bacchante  by  Caracci  in  the 
Ufftzi,  to  whom  a  Silenus  is  offering  a  dish  of  fruit. 
The  back  of  the  woman  is  seen,  and  is  finely  painted. 
Her  hair,  however,  is  too  conventionally  arranged 
to  be  characteristic  of  her  class. 

There  is  a  charmingly  coloured  picture  attributed 
to  Titian,  in  Munich,  representing  Venus  initiating 
a  young  Bacchante.  The  group  is  life-size,  and  the 
subjects  are  shown  as  far  as  the  knees.  Venus, 
seated,  is  holding  a  veiled  cup  of  some  kind.  The 
flesh-tones  are  dazzlingly  white,  while  a  young  Bac- 
chus behind  her  acts  as  a  rich  foil  in  colour.  Venus 


Baccbus  an&  1bt6  Urafn  165 

has  been  criticized  for  having  lips  much  too  red  for 
her  complexion.  The  Bacchante  who  kneels  before 
the  goddess  is  no  rival  in  personal  appearance.  One 
of  the  most  telling  details  of  the  picture  is  a  silver 
dish  of  fruit  held  high  in  the  air  by  a  satyr,  and 
seen  against  the  brilliant  blue  sky.  The  robe  of 
Venus  is  green,  so  that  the  colouring,  though  rich, 
remains  rather  cool  and  luminous.  The  paint  on 
the  picture  is  very  thick,  and  has,  unfortunately, 
cracked  badly. 

Among  the  paintings  discovered  in  the  Baths  of 
Constantine,  is  a  fourth-century  representation  of 
a  Bacchante  playing  upon  a  tambour.  The  figure, 
which  is  partially  draped,  has  good  poise. 

In  Luca  Signorelli's  "  Pan  listening  to  Olympus," 
there  is  more  classic  feeling  than  is  generally  dis- 
played by  this  artist  in  his  treatment  of  mythological 
subjects.  The  nymph,  the  faun,  with  his  girdle  of 
vine-leaves,  and  the  two  shepherds  are  all  nude,  and 
display  a  delicate  appreciation  on  the  part  of  the 
painter  for  subtle  and  melodious  line.  It  is  spoken  of 
in  the  highest  terms  by  Crowe  and  Cavalcasselle, 
who  consider  it  "  most  poetically  conceived  and 
beautifully  arranged."  In  continuation:  "a  sure 
proof  of  the  artist's  talent  in  drawing  nudes,  admi- 
rable for  the  select  classicism  of  the  Olympus,  and 
charming  for  the  variety  of  expressions  embodied 
in  the  group."  Pan  is  seen  seated  on  a  throne  of 


166  Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

rocks,  a  leopard's  skin  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 
In  one  hand  he  holds  the  reed  pipes,  while  he  has 
a  staff  —  a  species  of  thyrsus  —  in  the  other.  A 
well-drawn  figure  of  Apollo,  in  a  fine  pose,  stands 
on  one  side  of  him,  playing  upon  a  long  pipe,  while 
a  couple  of  rustics  listen  with  rapt  attention.  There 
is  a  vine-crowned  faun  lying  on  the  ground,  and  a 
nude  nymph  standing-.  The  faun  is  playing  upon 
a  pipe;  the  nymph  probably  represents  Echo.  It  is 
an  exquisite  scene,  among  the  most  beautiful  things 
ever  painted  by  Signorelli. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CLASSIC     LOVE  -  STORIES 

THE  pathetic  story  of  the  unfulfilled  loves  of 
Orpheus  and  Euridice  is  one  which  has  appealed 
to  many  artists.  The  untimely  death  of  the  bride 
is  thus  described  by  Ovid :  "  The  new-made  bride, 
while  she  was  strolling  along  the  grass,  attended 
by  a  train  of  Naiads,  was  killed,  having  received 
the  sting  of  a  serpent  on  her  ankle."  But  most  ver- 
sions of  the  myth  refer  to  her  having  been  pursued 
by  a  disappointed  lover;  the  ancient  representations 
show  her  having  fled  to  a  cave  for  shelter,  and  being 
there  attacked  by  two  serpents.  In  the  Virgil  of  the 
Vatican,  a  manuscript  of  the  fourth  century,  may 
be  seen  a  miniature  of  the  death  of  Euridice  by  the 
bite  of  the  serpent;  having  traversed  the  meadows, 
"  nor  at  her  heels  perceived  the  deadly  snake," 
Euridice  had  fallen  a  prey  to  two  serpents.  She 
was  transported  to  Hades  in  due  form1.  Thither 
after  her  went  her  lover,  Orpheus ;  "  and  amid  the 
phantom  inhabitants,  and  ghosts  who  had  enjoyed 

167 


i68  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

the  tomb"  (Ovid  appears  to  employ  this  term 
as  the  country-people  do,  who  allude  to  "  enjoying 
poor  health"),  "he  went  to  Persephone  and  him 
that  held  these  unpleasing  realms,  the  Ruler  of  the 
Shades."  .  .  .  Then,  accompanying  himself  on  his 
lyre,  he  indulged  in  a  long  recitative  imploring  the 
return  of  his  bride  who  had  been  thus  prematurely 
filched  from  him.  "  By  these  places  rilled  with 
horrors,"  he  pleaded,  "  By  this  vast  chaos,"  —  not  a 
very  propitiatory  appeal,  one  would  think.  But  his 
lack  of  tact  seems  to  have  been  condoned.  The 
next  miniature  in  the  Vatican  Virgil  shows  Orpheus 
in  the  act  of  conducting  Euridice  to  the  upper  air: 

"All  dangers  past,  at  length  the  lovely  bride 
In  safety  goes,  with  her  melodious  guide  .  . 
He  first,  and  close  behind  him  followed  she." 

The  hosts  of  Hades,  at  a  cavelike  opening,  stand 
watching  the  exit  of  Orpheus,  bearing  his  lyre,  and 
the  veiled  Euridice,  who  is  seen  still  within  the 
opening.  Ixion,  bound  to  his  wheel,  may  also  be 
seen  at  the  entrance  to  Hades.  But  Orpheus  for- 
gets the  condition  on  which  Persephone  allows 
Euridice  to  follow  him.  He  is  on  no  account  to 
look  upon  Euridice  until  she  is  quite  out  of  Hades, 
or  he  will  lose  her.  Alas ! 

"  Th'  unwary  lover  casts  his   eyes  behind, 
Forgetful  of  the  law,  nor  master  of  his  mind." 


Classic  3Lox>e*=Stories  169 

The  decree  is  carried  out  amidst  much  wailing: 

"  from  his  eyes  the  fleeting  fair 
Retired  like  subtle  smoke  dissolved  in  air, 
And  left  the  hopeless  lover  in  despair." 

Or,  in  the  words  of  Ovid  :  "  He  enamoured,  fear- 
ing lest  she  should  flag,  and  impatient  to  behold  her, 
turned  his  eyes:  and  immediately  she  sank  back 
again.  .  .  .  And  now  she  pronounced  the  last  fare- 
well, which  scarcely  did  he  catch  with  his  ears." 

Corot,  in  his  delightful  hazy  olive  colouring,  has 
painted  an  exquisite  study  of  Orpheus  leading 
Euridice  from  the  shades.  The  graceful  figures  are 
seen  flitting  in  the  half-light,  through  a  wooded 
country  skirting  a  small  lake.  Orpheus  has  not  yet 
glanced  back  at  his  wife,  and  they  glide  toward  the 
light,  with  all  prospect  of  escape.  The  gloom  lies 
behind  them,  and  figures  of  some  of  the  other  shades 
may  be  distinguished  across  the  water  in  the  misty 
landscape. 

After  this  agonizing  experience  Orpheus  became 
a  sort  of  hermit,  refusing  all  the  advances  of  the 
Thracian  maidens,  and  dwelling  alone  in  a  cave,  with 
nothing  to  comfort  him  but  his  music.  As  Landor 
has  drawn  him: 

"  Beneath  a  rock  o'er  Strymon's  flood  on  high, 
Seven  months,  seven  long-continued  months,  'tis  said, 
He  breathed  his  sorrows  in  a  desert  cave, 
And  soothed  the  tiger,  moved  the  oak,  with  song." 


170  Classic  fl&stbs  in  Hrt 

The  women  were  so  infuriated  at  his  neglect  that 
they  finally  made  an  onslaught,  and  threw  their 
javelins  at  him,  stoned  him,  and  otherwise  revenged 
themselves  upon  him  until  they  had  killed  him ;  they 
then  tore  his  body  to  pieces  and  cast  it  abroad  in  their 
wrath.  His  head  was  thrown,  with  his  lyre,  into  the 
river  Hebrus.  The  Muses  buried  his  remains,  while 
his  soul  passed  into  Tartarus  and  was  united  to  his 
love. 

Giovanni  Moreau  has  painted  a  figure  of  one  of 
the  Muses,  who,  carrying  the  head  of  Orpheus  placed 
on  the  lyre,  looks  sadly  down  at  the  pathetic  relic. 
The  drawing  of  the  eye  of  this  Muse  is  singularly 
faulty:  the  head  is  in  profile,  and  yet  the  eye  is 
drawn  in  the  proportion  and  position  for  a  full-face 
view.  The  head  of  Orpheus  is  beautiful,  and  it 
is  the  face  of  a  dead  man.  Like  a  fair  cameo,  it  lies 
upon  the  mute  strings  of  the  lyre,  but  with  no  sug- 
gestion of  a  living  face.  It  is  strange  that  the  same 
artist  should  have  rendered  two  faces  in  one  picture 
so  dissimilarly,  —  one  so  exquisitely,  and  one  so 
poorly. 

In  the  twelfth-century  psalter  in  the  Vatican  is  a 
very  fine  miniature,  full  of  the  remains  of  classic 
sentiment,  representing  Orpheus  playing  on  the  lyre, 
while  the  nymphs  of  wood  and  fountain  gather 
about,  and  the  animals  are  grouped  in  a  quaint 
little  squad  in  front  of  him.  The  sight  of  a  medi- 


Classic  %o\>e=Stortes  17  * 

tative  goat,  with  his  head  cast  down  sentimentally, 
apparently  moved  to  tears,  is  almost  too  much  for 
twentieth-century  risibles. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  painting  by  Padovanino  of 
Orpheus.  It  is  full  length,  and  is  a  single  figure. 
It  was  formerly  in  the  collection  of  Charles  II.  in  the 
Royal  Castle  of  Madrid. 

Orpheus  and  Euridice  by  Beyschlag  represents 
the  sorrowing  Orpheus,  his  arm  holding  Euridice 
close,  while  she  is  falling  away  from  his  embrace. 
The  whole  flavour  of  this  picture  is  modern,  as  is 
also  that  by  Sir  Frederic  Leighton,  although  the 
latter  is  a  much  stronger  picture,  and  is  exceedingly 
beautiful  in  composition. 

Two  scenes  from  the  story  of  Orpheus  are 
painted  in  the  medallions  at  Orvieto  by  Luca  Si- 
gnorelli.  "  Mediaeval  intensity,"  says  Symonds, 
"  curiously  at  variance  with  antique  feeling,  is  dis- 
cernible throughout.  The  Satellites  of  Hades  are 
gaunt  and  sinewy  devils,  eager  to  do  violence  to 
Euridice.  .  .  .  The  tranquillity  and  self-restraint 
of  Greek  art  yield  to  a  passionate  and  trenchant 
realization  of  the  actual  romance.  ...  A  whole 
cycle  of  human  experience  separates  these  medal- 
lions from  the  antique  bas-reliefs  at  Naples,  where 
Hermes  hands  the  veiled  Euridice  to  Orpheus,  and 
all  three  are  calm." 

statue  of  Orpheus  appeasing  Cer- 


17*  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


berus  is  based  upon  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the  figure 
being  adapted  to  another  attitude. 

In  the  Boston  Art  Museum  is  a  statue  of  Orpheus, 
executed  by  Crawford,  in  marble.  Orpheus  is  seek- 
ing his  bride  among  the  dead  in  Hades.  The  lyre 
is  in  his  hand,  while  he  shades  his  eyes  with  the 
other  hand,  —  rather  a  work  of  supererogation,  one 
would  think,  in  so  dark  an  atmosphere.  Cerberus 
is  seen  beside  him. 

The  loveliest  series  of  pictures  of  the  story  of 
Cupid  and  Psyche  are  to  be  found  in  the  Villa 
Farnesina  in  Rome.  They  are  by  Raphael,  and 
occupy  the  spaces  of  triangular  form  between  arches. 
In  these  spandrels  the  artist  has  presented  the  myth 
of  Cupid  and  Psyche  in  a  series  of  frescoes,  some 
of  them  containing  several  figures,  and  each  framed 
in  with  decorative  garlands  of  flowers  and  fruits. 
This  series  may  be  called  a  decorative  poem. 
Raphael  made  various  drawings  for  these  pictures, 
some  of  which  are  extant.  The  drawings  were  evi- 
dently submitted  to  his  friend  Count  Castiglione, 
for,  in  a  letter  from  Raphael  to  him,  there  is  the 
following  allusion  :  "  I  have  executed  in  more  than 
one  manner  the  designs  of  the  subjects  you  pro- 
posed to  me.  I  am  told  that  they  have  obtained 
general  approbation.  For  myself  I  am  very  chary 
of  trusting  to  my  own  judgment;  I  fear  much  that 
I  shall  not  satisfy  ypurs.  I  send  them  to  you. 


Classic  Xove=Stories  173 

Select  such,  if  such  there  be,  as  seem  to  merit  your 
choice." 

Undoubtedly  the  frescoes  were  partly  the  work 
of  his  favourite  pupils ;  but  Raphael  is  in  them  very 
largely,  —  in  all  the  vigour  of  his  Roman  manner. 

The  first  of  these  frescoes  represents  Venus,  who 
is  jealous  of  the  success  of  Psyche  (the  maiden 
being  beloved  by  too  many  men  to  suit  the  goddess 
of  Love) ,  directing  her  son  Cupid  to  wound  Psyche 
with  one  of  his  arrows,  so  that  the  proud  girl  may 
fall  in  love  with  some  unworthy  object,  and  cease  to 
be  so  universally  fascinating.  Venus  is  holding 
Cupid  close  to  her,  while  she  points  down  to  earth, 
telling  him  where  to  search  for  Psyche.  Cupid  is 
here  shown  as  a  youth.  He  stands  at  his  mother's 
knee  obediently,  and  raises  a  dart  in  his  right  hand. 
Cupid  did  his  mother's  bidding,  and  aimed  his  arrow 
at  Psyche  while  she  lay  asleep ;  but  when  he  saw  her 
beautiful  eyes  open,  he  started,  and  wounded  himself 
with  one  of  his  own  arrows,  thereby  becoming  him- 
self the  victim.  This,  of  course,  greatly  enraged 
Venus,  who  began  a  systematic  course  of  persecution 
against  Psyche. 

In  the  next  spandrel  Cupid  is  seen  showing  Psyche 
to  the  three  Graces.  They  sit  among  the  clouds, 
but  are  listening  to  Cupid,  who  points  earthward. 
The  three  nude  women  are  exquisitely  drawn,  but 


174  Classic  /IDgtbs  in  Hit 

have  rather  more  the  muscular  Amazonian  type  than 
the  usual  tender  beauty  of  the  Graces. 

Then  Venus,  in  her  car,  with  linked  doves  to  draw 
her,  is  seen  starting  off  to  seek  aid  from  Jupiter. 
This  figure  is  not  as  graceful  as  one  would  naturally 
expect  of  a  Venus  painted  by  Raphael.  Her  arms 
are  out  at  ungainly  angles. 

The  story  of  the  very  unsatisfactory  relations 
upon  which  these  two  young  unfortunates  then 
entered,  is  known  to  all:  how  Cupid  would  never 
allow  Psyche  to  see  him  in  the  light,  preferring  to 
play  the  lover  incognito,  and  how  Psyche,  goaded  to 
deceit,  carried  her  lamp  to  gaze  upon  him  while 
he  slept,  whereupon  he  took  to  his  wings  and  flew 
away,  like  little  Cock  Sparrow,  not  to  be  seen  again 
for  many  a  day.  The  frescoes  depart  from  these 
main  incidents  of  the  story;  in  one,  Venus  is  seen 
imploring  aid  of  Jupiter,  who  sits  upon  his  eagle, 
nursing  a  thunderbolt  as  calmly  as  if  it  were  an 
infant.  Another  one  presents  Venus,  turning  away 
from  Juno  and  Ceres,  who  haughtily  refuse  to  be  of 
any  comfort. 

In  another  spandrel  Mercury  is  seen  descending 
in  search  of  Psyche,  who  by  this  time  has  been  sent 
to  Hades  to  procure  for  Venus  a  small  portion  of 
the  beauty  of  Proserpine,  which  Venus  has  sent 
Psyche  to  fetch  for  her.  Then  Psyche  is  shown 
floating  up  among  Cupids  to  take  the  box  of  beauty 


Classic  3Lo\>e*Stories  175 

to  Venus.  She  is  holding  the  box  high  with  her  left 
hand,  and  the  figure  is  full  of  light,  airy  motion. 
In  another  spandrel  Psyche  is  kneeling  by  Venus, 
presenting  her  with  the  jar  of  Proserpine's  beauty. 
The  exacting  mother-in-law  looks  far  from  satis- 
fied, as  she  raises  both  hands  with  a  gesture  which 
might  indicate  horror. 

Then  Cupid  appears  on  the  scene  again,  beg- 
ging Jupiter  to  intercede  for  him  and  his  bride. 
Jupiter  is  holding  the  boy  close,  and  promising 
assistance.  In  the  fresco  Jupiter  is  whispering  in 
Cupid's  ear,  and  he  seems  affectionately  inclined. 
He  has  even  relinquished  his  petted  thunderbolt,  and 
has  given  it  to  his  eagle  to  hold  for  the  nonce.  The 
drawing  for  this  fresco  has  been  preserved,  and  is, 
in  most  essentials,  like  the  painting,  but  Jupiter  is 
without  his  beard.  Presumably  the  master's  method 
was  to  draw  his  heads  and  faces  with  correct 
anatomy  before  he  endowed  them  with  beard  and 
flowing  locks. 

Finally  Mercury  is  seen  conducting  Psyche  to  the 
celestial  regions,  where,  after  drinking  of  the  cup 
presented  to  her  by  Jove,  she  becomes  immortal. 
The  figure  of  Psyche  as  she  is  thus  wafted  up  to 
Olympus  conducted  by  Mercury,  is  very  lovely. 
Throughout  the  pictures  she  suggests  the  type  of 
Raphael's  Galatea. 

On  the  ceiling  of  the  Farnesina  Palace  Raphael 


i?6  Classic  flDgtbs  In  Hct 

painted  two  majestic  frescoes  representing  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Gods,  and  the  Banquet  of  the  Gods.  In 
criticizing  these  compositions  Quatremere  de  Quincy 
writes:  "Certainly  the  most  difficult  labour  .  .  . 
of  the  painter  transported  to  the  regions  of  the 
mythological  world,  must  be  the  representing  to  the 
eyes  that  series  of  personages,  so  various  in  nature, 
physiognomy,  character,  proportion,  age,  costume, 
with  which  the  imagination  of  the  Greeks  peopled 
the  sky,  borrowing  from  humanity  the  diversity  of 
forms,  by  means  of  which  all  moral  qualities,  all 
intellectual  ideas  were  rendered  sensible  to  the  eye." 
Raphael,  in  these  works,  did  not  attempt  to  paint  in 
the  perspective  usually  recognized  as  appropriate 
for  ceiling  decoration.  The  pictures  are  planned 
as  if  they  were  to  be  seen  in  a  vertical  position.  To 
make  this  arrangement  appear  justifiable,  Raphael 
has  imitated  the  edges  of  a  tapestry  around  the  pic- 
tures, so  that  they  look  like  large  tapestries  which 
had  been  placed  on  the  ceiling,  but  had  not  been 
designed  with  that  end  in  view ;  a  naive  way  of  es- 
caping the  usual  exigencies  of  ceiling  painting. 

In  the  Council  of  the  Gods  Jupiter  is  enthroned 
at  the  right,  listening  to  the  case  which  Cupid  is 
pleading.  The  love-god  stands  before  the  throne 
with  his  arms  stretched  out,  in  supplication.  Jupiter 
is  resting  his  chin  on  his  hand,  regarding  the  enthu- 
siastic youth  thoughtfully.  Juno  sits  by  Jupiter, 


Classic  Xox>e*Stortes  177 

and  Pallas,  with  her  helmet  and  spear,  is  seen  behind 
him.  Neptune,  distinguished  by  his  trident,  and 
Pluto,  with  his  twotined  fork,  stand  by.  Psyche 
follows  Cupid,  rather  shyly.  Her  figure  is  not 
equal  to  the  demands  of  the  situation,  being  rather 
squat.  Mars  is  seen  behind  her,  and  Bacchus,  in  the 
very  attitude  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Bacchus  in  the 
Louvre,  is  pointing  at  Psyche  with  his  forefinger. 
A  little  farther  along,  Janus  may  be  seen;  and  the 
Sphynx  is  crouching  on  the  ground  at  the  feet  of 
Mercury,  who,  with  his  caduceus  in  one  hand,  takes 
a  cup  from  Hebe  with  the  other.  A  dignified  assem- 
bly it  is,  and  Raphael  has  certainly  succeeded  in 
differentiating  his  types  so  that  all  these  deities  stand 
out  distinctly. 

In  the  Banquet  of  the  Gods  Cupid  and  Psyche 
are  resting  upon  a  couch  at  the  right,  next  to  Jupiter, 
who  is  seen  accepting  a  cup  of  wine  from  Ganymede. 
The  Graces  are  anointing  Psyche  from  a  little  vase, 
held  by  one  of  them,  while  Bacchus  is  pouring  wine 
from  a  flagon.  The  Muses  are  entertaining  the 
company  with  a  dance  at  the  left.  Nymphs  with 
butterfly  wings  are  showering  flowers  upon  the 
guests. 

These  Farnesina  frescoes  are  roughly  worked, 
in  a  masterly  impressionism;  an  eye  is  often  found 
to  be  only  a  black  dot  and  a  white  dot  placed  to- 
gether; and  yet  it  glows  with  life.  Many  of  the 


178  Classic  fl&stbs  in  art 

deities  in  the  Olympian  feasts  are  simply  hulking 
blacksmiths  and  wrestlers.  Symonds  considers  that 
there  is  "  something  savouring  of  over-bloom  .  .  . 
as  though  the  painter's  faculty  had  been  strained 
beyond  its  natural  force."  He  suggests  that  the 
muscles  and  open  mouths  are  exaggerated.  Ra- 
phael's pupils  assisted  in  the  execution  of  the  Cupid 
and  Psyche  episodes,  while  he  himself  painted  the 
Galatea. 

Camuccino  has  depicted  the  scene  of  Psyche  being 
brought  to  Jupiter  and  receiving  the  nectar,  in  a 
manner  not  unlike  that  of  David  or  Canova  in  treat- 
ing Greek  scenes.  The  feeling  is  very  classical. 
Jupiter  and  Juno,  enthroned  formally  on  the  right, 
are  surrounded  by  the  other  deities,  and  all  are  more 
or  less  reminiscent  of  the  Greek  statues  of  the  gods. 
Minerva  might  well  be  the  famous  Minerva  Medica 
in  another  position;  the  Barberini  Juno  seems  to 
have  seated  herself  beside  Jove.  The  Jupiter  Olym- 
pus himself,  in  almost  the  exact  attitude  of  his 
famous  statue,  is  administering  the  draught  to 
Psyche;  in  short,  the  picture  is  a  sort  of  compila- 
tion,—  an  editing  of  the  Greek  masterpieces  in  a 
definite  scene.  Perhaps  the  figure  of  Mercury  is 
more  like  that  by  Giovanni  da  Bologna  than  like  any 
one  ancient  statue,  but  Apollo  is  the  Belvedere  god, 
sitting  in  an  attitude  of  ease  on  the  left,  his  lyre  and 
quiver  beside  him.  The  little  girlish  Psyche  suggests 


Classic  Xove^Stories  179 

the  Psyche  at  Naples,  and  is  also  like  the  Venus  de 
Medici.  It  is  Praxiteles's  Cupid  who  is  leaning  on 
Psyche's  breast. 

In  the  Palazzo  del  Te  in  Mantua  Giulio  Romano 
has  painted  delightful  frescoes  on  general  mythologi- 
cal subjects,  among  them  a  set  of  charming  pictures 
of  the  myth  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  selected  somewhat 
after  the  order  of  those  in  the  Farnesina. 

Psyche,  in  Charon's  boat,  being  rowed  into  the 
'dark  entrance  to  the  Styx,  is  charmingly  portrayed 
by  Neide,  a  modern  painter.  The  stalwart  figure 
of  Charon  standing  against  the  light  sky,  and  the 
delicate  white  flesh-tones  of  Psyche,  silhouetted 
against  the  dark  rock  of  the  cavern,  are  in  delight- 
ful contrast. 

The  Cupid  and  Psyche  by  Canova  is  restless, 
fluttering,  and  transitory.  It  is  a  very  popular 
group,  but  has  been  made  somewhat  too  common 
in  small  Carrara  models.  It  must  be  conceded,  how- 
ever, that  the  spirit  of  youthful  passion,  timid,  and 
yet  intense,  has  been  caught  by  the  artist. 

A  refined  and  delicate  torso,  suggestive  of  youth, 
is  the  Psyche  at  Naples.  The  head,  too,  is  both 
graceful  and  aristocratic.  A  fragment  of  a  sarcopha- 
gus found  at  Ostia,  and  now  in  the  Vatican,  displays 
man  being  created  by  Prometheus,  while  Mercury 
presents  the  new  human  being  with  a  soul,  typified 
by  the  figure  of  Psyche. 


i8o  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

In  Munich  is  a  Psyche  by  Antonio  Belucci,  about 
to  stab  the  sleeping  Cupid  with  a  dagger,  but  draw- 
ing back  as  she  sees  his  beauty,  which  her  lamp  has 
revealed  to  her. 

Cupid  and  Psyche  have  been  painted  by  innumer- 
able modern  artists  in  a  most  inadequate  way.  Guido 
Reni  has  perpetrated  several  dreadful  sleeping 
Cupids,  presumably  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Psyche. 

Volterrano's  Sleeping  Love  in  the  Pitti  Palace 
is  the  most  attractive  example  of  this  subject  in  art. 
It  is  a  bit  of  fresco,  now  framed  and  hung  on  the 
wall,  and  shows  a  most  exquisite  boy  in  quite  Greek 
feeling.  Raphael  Mengs'  picture  of  Cupid  sharpen- 
ing his  arrow  is  rather  a  fat,  uninteresting  infant, 
holding  the  arrow-point  ready  to  rub  on  a  flat  stone, 
while  he  gazes  up  into  the  air  to  give  the  artist  an 
opportunity  to  paint  his  eyes  in  that  position. 
Michelangelo's  Sleeping  Cupid  was  so  Greek  in  its 
sentiment  that  Cardinal  Raffaello  Riario  bought  it 
as  an  antique. 

The  intrepid  Leander  who  swam  the  Hellespont 
nightly  for  the  sake  of  meeting  his  love,  is  a  well- 
known  figure  to  every  one. .  Bodenhausen's  picture 
of  his  tragic  death,  in  being  cast  upon  the  shore  at 
the  feet  of  Hero,  is  very  familiar.  The  poor  girl, 
holding  her  hands  to  her  temples  in  despair,  while 
she  looks  down  at  the  beautiful  dead  youth,  is  a 
harrowing  example  of  the  difference  between  the 


VOLTERRANO SLEEPING   LOVE. 


Classic  %ox>e*Stortes  181 

classic  restraint  and  the  modern  preference  for  a 
realistic  scene.  A  beautifully  executed  work  of  art, 
its  message  is  only  a  morbid  and  hopeless  one. 

Ruskin  considers  the  painting  of  the  sky  in  the 
Hero  and  Leander  of  Turner  to  be  "  a  characteristic 
and  noble  example,  as  far  as  any  individual  work's 
can  be  characteristic,  of  the  universality  of  this  noble 
mind."  He  also  highly  commends  the  painter  for 
the  forms  of  his  waves  in  this  picture,  saying,  how- 
ever, "  but  there  the  drawing  was  rendered  easier 
by  the  powerful  effect  of  light  which  disguised  the 
foam."  He  says,  too  :  "  Any  surveyor  or  engineer 
could  have  drawn  the  steps  and  balustrade,  .  .  . 
but  there  is  no  man  living  but  himself  who  could 
have  thrown  the  accidental  shadows  upon  them." 

Piero  di  Cosimo  has  much  in  common  with  Botti- 
celli, in  his  romantic  treatment  of  classical  subjects. 
He  makes  no  attempt  to  try  and  reproduce  the 
historic  Greek  feeling.  In  his  picture  of  the  Death 
of  Procris  this  is  marked. 

There  are  two  legends  of  the  death  of  Procris; 
one  as  related  by  Austin  Dobson  in  his  poem  on  this 
subject  seems  to  be  the  version  of  the  story  which 
Piero  di  Cosimo  selected  for  portrayal.  Cephalus, 
a  young  huntsman,  was  happily  married  to  Procris. 
But  the  fascinating  goddess  of  the  Dawn,  Aurora, 
came  and  tried  to  alienate  his  affections,  and  ap- 
peared to  his  wife  to  have  succeeded.  Very  likely 


i8«  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

this  myth  originated  through  the  well-known  love 
of  the  hunter  for  the  early  morning;  at  any  rate, 
the  narrative  has  it  that  Procris  was  quite  miserable 
at  the  changed  condition  of  affairs,  and  suspected 
some  wily  nymph  of  having  gained  the  fickle  heart 
of  her  young  husband.  So,  with  dread  of  finding 
aught  amiss,  and  yet  with  fear  of  not  finding  what 
might  be  wrong,  she  went  forth  to  follow  Cephalus 
on  his  hunting  expedition  one  morning.  She  came 
upon  him,  but  without  allowing  herself  to  be  seen, 
she  hid  in  the  thicket  to  watch  what  he  might  do. 
Let  us  follow  the  story  in  the  modern  version,  as 
Austin  Dobson  tells  it : 

"Leaping  he  went,  this  hunter  Cephalus, 
But  in  his  hand  his  cornel  bow  he  bare, 

Supple  he  was,  round-limbed  and  vigorous, 
Fleet  as  his  dogs,  a  lean  Laconian  pair. 

He,  when  he  spied  the  brown  of  Procris'  hair 
Move  in  the  covert,  deeming  that  apart 

Some  fawn  lay  hidden,  loosed  an  arrow  there; 
Nor  cared  to  turn  and  seek  the  speeding  dart 
Bounding  above  the  fern,  fast  following  up  the  hart. 

"But  Procris  lay  among  the  white  wind-flowers 
Shot  in  the  throat.    From  out  the  little  wound 
The  slow  blood  drained,  as  drops  in  autumn  showers 

Drip  from  the  leaves  upon  the  sodden  ground. 
None  saw  her  die  but  Lelaps,  the  swift  hound, 

That  watched  her  dumbly  with  a  wistful  fear, 
Till,  at  the  dawn,  the  horned  woodmen  found 
And  bore  her  gently  on  a  sylvan  bier 
Tp  lie  beside  the  sea  — with  many  an  uncouth  tear," 


Classic  Xove^Storiea  183 

This  is  the  version  of  the  story  which  Piero  di 
Cosimo  has  painted.  The  dead  Procris,  with  the 
wound  in  her  throat,  lies  on  the  sward,  on  a  low, 
marshy  land,  such  as  hunters  select  when  they  are 
searching  for  birds.  Her  scarf  has  slipped  off,  and 
her  body,  although  it  is  painted  in  the  firm  wooden 
manner  of  this  artist,  has,  nevertheless,  a  certain 
look  of  death  about  it.  The  hands  are  limp,  and 
lie  as  a  dead  person's  hands  might,  although  there 
are  faults  in  the  drawing.  The  faithful  dog  sits 
mute  at  her  feet,  and  Cosimo  has  given  an  expres- 
sion of  sympathetic  concern  to  the  eye  of  this  dog 
which  reminds  one  of  the  human-eyed  dog  in  Car- 
paccio's  picture  of  two  Courtesans  in  Venice,  and 
which  Mr.  Ruskin  commends  so  highly.  The  little 
satyr  who  is  kneeling  at  the  left,  and  who  has  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Procris,  is  a  strictly 
imaginative  being,  and  is  in  some  details  strangely 
misconceived.  As  Symonds  says :  "  In  creating 
this  satyr  the  painter  has  imagined  for  himself  a 
being  half-human,  half-bestial,  and  yet  wholly  real; 
nor  yet  has  he  portrayed  in  Procris  a  nymph  of 
Greek  form,  but  a  girl  of  Florence.  The  strange 
animals  and  gaudy  flowers  introduced  into  the 
landscape  background  further  remove  the  subject 
from  the  sphere  of  classic  treatment.  Florentine 
realism  and  quaint  fancy  being  thus  curiously 
blended,  the  artistic  result  may  be  profitably  studied 


184  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

for  the  light  it  throws  upon  the  so-called  paganism 
of  the  early  Renaissance."  Cosimo's  satyr  has  fur 
legs,  but,  speaking  anatomically,  they  are  not  goat's 
legs;  for  this  strange  little  hybrid  is  represented  as 
kneeling  on  his  little  lean,  dark  shanks,  just  as  a 
man  would  kneel  —  in  other  words,  the  knee-joints 
turn  the  wrong  way  for  a  goat,  and  the  effect  is 
weird.  His  feathery  moustache  and  light  growth  of 
beard  are  evidently  intended  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion of  a  hirsute  monster.  The  fringed  ears  which 
extend  in  long  points  high  up  among  his  curling 
locks  are  quite  unlike  any  ears  seen  elsewhere  in  art. 

Of  this  Death  of  Procris,  by  Piero  di  Cosimo,  Ver- 
non  Lee  says :  "  The  poor  young  woman,  lying 
dead  by  the  lake,  with  the  little  fishing-town  in  the 
distance,  the  swans  sailing  and  cranes  strutting,  — 
and  the  dear  young  faun  —  no  Praxitelian  god  with 
invisible  ears,  still  less  the  obscene  beast  whom  the 
later  Renaissance  copied  from  antiquity,  —  a  most 
gentle  furry,  rustic  creature,  stooping  over  her  in 
puzzled,  pathetic  concern,  at  a  loss,  with  his  want 
of  the  practice  of  cities,  and  the  knowledge  of 
womankind,  what  to  do  for  this  poor  lady,  lying 
among  the  reeds  and  the  flowering  scarlet  sage." 

The  other  version  of  the  myth  of  Cephalus  and 
Procris  is  similar  to  this,  except  that  Procris  became 
jealous  of  Aurora,  because  she  heard  her  husband 
murmur,  in  the  woods,  "  Come,  gentle  Aura,  sweet 


Classic  3Lox>e=Storfes  185 

goddess  of  the  Breeze,  and  allay  the  heat  that  burns 
me."  When  she  heard  this  languid  utterance  she 
sobbed,  in  the  hiding-place  where  she  was  concealed. 
Cephalus,  supposing  the  sound  to  come  from  some 
animal  lurking  in  the  bushes,  threw  his  javelin.  A 
cry  coming  from  the  spot  was  his  answer.  He 
rushed  to  the  bush,  —  he  found  Procris  mortally 
wounded.  Cephalus  raised  her  in  his  arms,  and 
her  last  words  to  him,  as  her  life  ebbed  away,  were, 
"If  you  have  ever  loved  me,  do  not  marry  that 
hateful  breeze!  " 

Guido  Reni  has  selected  the  moment  of  the  death 
of  Procris,  according  to  this  version,  for  his  attract- 
ive picture  in  the  Brunswick  Gallery.  In  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  wood  (here  we  see  that  Guide's  idea 
of  a  hunter  was  that  of  one  who  chased  larger  game 
than  birds  on  marshes)  Procris,  laid  gracefully  upon 
a  satin  robe,  but  quite  nude,  is  breathing  her  last. 
Cephalus  supports  her  shoulder  on  his  knee,  while 
with  his  right  hand  he  is  making  a  dainty  attempt 
to  extract  the  long  weapon  which  extends  from  a 
wound  in  her  chest.  He  looks  somewhat  pained, 
but  is  not  apparently  in  deep  distress.  Intellectually, 
the  picture  is  valueless,  but  a  more  faultless,  beauti- 
ful rendering  of  the  human  body  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find.  Every  line  is  ideal ;  the  outline  of  the 
body  of  the  girl,  as  it  lies  white  and  luminous  amidst 
its  dark  surroundings,  is  as  perfect  as  any  in  art. 


i86  Classic  dDptbs  in  art 

Yet  with  all  this  mere  external  beauty  the  picture 
lacks  interest  except  as  a  study  of  the  nude. 

In  the  Boston  Art  Museum  is  a  Greek  Cylix  which 
has  an  archaic  drawing-  of  Aurora,  with  spread 
wings,  pursuing  and  trying  to  detain  Cephalus,  who 
is  doing  his  best  to  escape.  It  is  a  curious  example 
of  the  art  of  the  early  fifth  century  B.  c. 

Guercino  has  painted  a  Cephalus  and  Procris 
which  is  in  Dresden.  It  is  in  no  way  satisfactory. 
Cephalus  and  Procris  are  both  in  Renaissance 
clothes.  Procris,  in  an  attitude  of  suffering  and 
grief,  is  expiring,  reclining  at  the  right,  propped  up 
against  a  bank,  the  arrow  sticking  straight  out  of 
her  chest;  while  Cephalus,  sitting  on  a  stone  near 
by,  makes  no  effort  to  help  her  or  to  comfort  her, 
but  with  his  legs  crossed,  and  his  hands  clasped 
around  his  knee,  is  looking  in  quite  the  opposite 
direction,  into  the  clouds.  Two  greyhounds  stand 
near  impassively.  In  the  sky,  occupying  as  large 
a  space  above  as  does  a  distant  city  in  the  landscape 
below,  kneels  Cupid,  on  a  cloud  mattress,  rubbing 
his  eyes  with  his  knuckles.  Nothing  could  be  more 
inexpressive  either  of  the  scene  or  of  the  period. 

In  the  Cephalus  and  Procris  of  Turner,  in  the 
Liber  Studiorum,  Ruskin  is  particular  to  tell  us  to 
"  note  the  sympathy  of  those  faint  rays  that  are  just 
drawing  back  and  dying  between  the  trunks  of  the 
far-off  forest,  with  the  ebbing  life  of  the  nymph ; " 


Classic  Xove^Stories  187 

the  idea  is  a  poetic  one,  and  the  effect  inspires  the 
imagination.  Cephalus  holds  the  dying  Procris  at 
the  left,  but  the  figures  are  subordinate.  Primarily 
the  picture  is  a  landscape  with  a  beautiful  vista, 
and  a  clear  dawn-light  on  a  hill  at  the  right. 

There  is  rather  a  fanciful  painting  by  Guerin  in 
the  Louvre  representing  Aurora  coming  to  woo 
Cephalus  with  flowers.  He  is  a  pretty,  sleeping 
youth,  reclining  on  a  cloud,  while  Aurora  is  a  lovely 
nymph  of  the  Empire  period,  showering  minute 
field-flowers  upon  the  object  of  her  affections.  Her 
attitude  is  an  example  of  simpering  eighteenth- 
century  mannerisms. 


CHAPTER   X. 

HERCULES 

HERCULES  was  conceived  of  first  as  a  very  fully- 
armed  and  protected  soldier  or  warrior.  The  ideal 
of  superb  human  strength  and  muscular  develop- 
ment as  a  more  perfect  protection  than  armour,  did 
not  obtain  before  the  seventh  century  B.  c.,  when  a 
poet  of  Rhodes  described  a  Hercules  with  a  club  and 
lion's  skin  instead  of  his  earlier  attribute,  the  bow. 
By  the  fifth  century  he  was  recognized  as  an  athlete, 
without  armour,  but  trusting  in  the  power  of  his  own 
firm  body. 

The  Farnese  Hercules  is  perhaps  the  most  obvious 
of  this  type.  Taine  speaks  of  him  as  "  a  vigorous 
porter,  who  has  just  lifted  a  piece  of  timber,  and 
thinking  that  a  glass  of  wine  would  not  come  amiss." 
One  would  know  that  this  critic  was  a  Frenchman, 
and  not  a  Briton  —  an  English  critic  would  have 
alluded  to  a  "  pot  of  beer  "  instead  of  a  "  glass  of 
wine."  Of  this  Hercules  Doctor  Moore  observes: 
"  The  Farnese  Hercules  is  faulty  both  in  form  and 


Ibercules  189 

attitude;  the  former  is  too  unwieldy  for  active  ex- 
ertion, and  the  latter  exhibits  vigour  exhausted.  .  .  . 
A  reposing  Hercules  is  almost  a  contradiction."  He 
tells  a  little  tale  in  naively  gossiping  style,  of  a  lady 
in  the  party  who  found  this  figure  most  unsatis- 
factory; she  turned  away  from  it  in  disgust. 
Doctor  Moore  asking  her  what  had  shocked  her, 
received  the  reply  that  she  could  not  bear  the  stern 
severity  of  his  countenance,  his  large,  brawny 
limbs,  and  the  club  with  which  he  was  armed;  she 
complained  that  he  looked  more  like  one  of  those 
giants  that  used  to  carry  away  virgins  in  old  ro- 
mances, than  he  did  like  the  lover  of  Omphale;  she 
was,  in  fact,  convinced  that  this  could  not  be  a  just 
presentment  of  Hercules,  as  no  man  of  such  pro- 
portions could  ever  have  been  a  reliever  of  dis- 
tressed damsels! 

The  first  exploit  chronicled  of  Hercules  is  the 
marvellous  story  of  his  strangling  two  large  ser- 
pents which  Juno  had  sent  to  attack  him  as  he  lay, 
as  an  infant,  in  his  cradle.  "  Hercules  throttling 
snakes  according  to  tradition,"  as  Pausanias  has  it, 
was  a  favourite  subject  with  sculptors.  There  are 
several  antique  marbles  of  this  subject,  allowing 
play  of  imagination  as  to  just  what  muscular  devel- 
opment would  be  necessary  to  make  such  a  feat 
possible  in  a  young  child. 

In  the  Pitti  Palace  may  be  seen  a  picture  in  fairly 


190  Classic  jflDx?tbs  in  But 

classic  spirit,  representing  the  young  Hercules,  hold- 
ing a  snake  in  each  hand,  while  his  father  is  hurry- 
ing up  carrying  a  lamp;  a  good  piece  of  light 
painting,  by  the  way.  The  mother,  half  nude,  is 
seen  rising  from  her  couch. 

Of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  painting  of  Hercules 
Strangling  the  Serpents,  Barry,  in  his  lectures, 
observes  that  "  nothing  can  exceed  the  brilliancy  of 
light,  the  force,  the  vigorous  effect  "  of  the  picture : 
it  possesses,  he  claims,  all  that  we  look  for  in  Rem- 
brandt, "  united  to  beautiful  forms,  and  an  elevation 
of  mind,  to  which  Rembrandt  had  no  pretensions." 

The  Pompeian  painting  from  the  House  of  the 
Vettii,  of  Hercules  strangling  the  serpents,  repre- 
sents the  child  slender  and  yet  firm  in  his  build,  sunk 
on  one  knee  while  he  holds  the  two  snakes  tightly. 
The  mother  runs  to  call  for  help,  but  the  admiring 
father  does  not  even  leave  his  throne  nor  cast  down 
his  sceptre,  so  engrossed  is  he  in  watching  the  infant 
prodigy.  A  human  terror  seems  to  animate  an 
attendant;  but  otherwise  the  young  Hercules  is 
allowed  to  work  out  his  own  fate. 

Vasari  tells  of  a  series  of  pictures  painted  by 
Dosso  Dossi  and  Batista,  his  brother,  of  the  history 
of  Hercules,  executed  on  the  walls  of  the  court  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  in  Ferrara.  These  pictures  were  in 
chiaroscuro,  and  still  remain,  though  much  re- 
stored. 


•fcercules  191 

In  the  Naples  Museum  is  an  interesting  picture 
by  Annibale  Caracci,  of  Hercules  making  his  his- 
toric choice  between  Virtue  and  Vice.  The  young 
hero,  athletic  and  stalwart,  is  seated  on  a  rock, 
meditating.  He  leans  upon  his  club,  and  his  brow 
is  drawn  with  thought.  Two  charming  women 
stand  on  either  side  of  him;  at  a  first  glance  it  is 
difficult  to  distinguish  between  Vice  and  Virtue,  but 
we  must  infer  that  the  one  who  smiles  and  wears  the 
scantier  drapery  stands  for  Caracci's  impression  of 
evil.  This  choice  of  Hercules  is  sometimes  called  the 
strife  between  Pleasure  and  Duty,  and  probably  it 
was  this  interpretation  which  the  artist  had  in  mind. 
Duty,  the  figure  on  the  right  of  Hercules  (the  left 
in  the  picture),  is  pointing  to  a  distant  prospect,  a 
rugged  mountain  path,  over  a  shadeless  tract  of 
country.  Her  figure  is  extremely  noble,  the  head 
very  beautiful,  and  the  pose  easy  and  graceful. 
Pleasure,  on  the  other  hand,  stands  with  her  back 
to  the  spectator,  poised  lightly,  and  smiling  in  a 
cheerful  and  apparently  innocent  way.  She  indi- 
cates a  charmingly  shaded  grove,  where  palms, 
pines,  and  grapes  seem  to  abound  in  equal  profusion. 
At  the  feet  of  Pleasure  lie  two  masks  and  a  book. 
Literature  and  the  drama  would  appear  to  be  the 
limit  of  the  temptations  which  she  offers.  At  the 
left,  seated  on  the  ground,  appears  Jove,  with  an 
open  book ;  he  is  probably  playing  the  role  of  record- 


192  Classic  flDvtbs  in  Btt 

ing  angel,  and  is  registering  the  stern  determination 
of  Hercules. 

Juno,  having  failed  to  dispose  of  Hercules  by  the 
means  of  the  serpents  which  she  sent  to  attack  him 
in  his  infancy,  caused  him,  while  still  young,  to 
become  insane,  and  to  slay  his  children.  This  scene 
has  occasionally  been  employed  in  art.  Alessandro 
Turchi's  picture  of  Hercules  slaying  his  children 
may  be  seen  in  the  old  Pinakothek  in  Munich.  It  is 
well  drawn,  and  technically  clever.  While  the 
general  composition  and  treatment  show  the  influ- 
ence of  Michelangelo,  the  colour  scheme  is  Venetian. 

When  he  recovered  his  sanity,  Hercules,  having 
become  subject  to  a  domineering  relative  by  the 
name  of  Eurystheus,  was  sent  forth  upon  his  noted 
"  Twelve  Labours."  Among  these  adventures  some 
are  much  more  common  in  art  than  others. 

A  fresco  in  the  Farnesina,  by  Peruzzi,  exhibits 
the  first  of  these  exploits,  —  the  conquering  and 
slaying  of  the  Nemean  Lion.  In  its  style  it  chal- 
lenges comparison  with  Pollajuolo's  paintings  of 
Hercules.  The  action  of  the  leg,  breaking  the  lion's 
back,  is  powerful. 

His  next  labour  was  to  make  way  with  the  Hydra, 
a  ravaging  water-serpent  with  innumerable  heads, 
which  had  been  causing  the  people  of  Argos  much 
discomfort.  Pollajuolo's  picture  of  Hercules  over- 
coming the  Hydra,  which  is  in  the  Urfizi,  is  well 


Ibercules  193 

described,  though  quaintly,  by  Vasari.  He  calls  it 
"  an  admirable  work,"  and  goes  on  to  qualify  his 
statement :  "  More  especially  the  reptile,  the  colour- 
ing of  which  has  so  much  animation  and  truth  that 
nothing  more  lifelike  could  possibly  be  seen;  the 
venomous  nature,  the  fire,  the  ferocity,  and  the  rage 
of  the  monster,  are  so  effectually  displayed,  that  the 
master  merits  the  highest  encomiums."  The  Hydra 
is  certainly  convincing,  as  being  an  anatomical  pos- 
sibility, which  quality  many  monsters  in  art  quite 
fail  to  attain.  Hercules,  thin,  young,  and  active,  is 
a  very  different  type  from  the  Farnese ;  but  he  sug- 
gests wiry  strength  and  agility,  and  the  figure  is  full 
of  action  and  force. 

This  little  panel  of  Pollajuolo's  proves,  as  the 
Misses  Horner  remark,  that  "  grandeur  of  drawing 
and  composition  does  not  depend  on  size."  As  to 
technical  qualities,  the  outlines  are  hard,  and  the 
colour  monotonous.  He  had  no  eye  for  values, 
painting  by  the  inch  instead  of  by  the  foot,  and  not 
considering  the  final  effect  of  the  whole  picture. 

Of  all  the  other  victories  of  Hercules,  hardly  any 
have  appeared  in  art  except  the  last :  the  strangling 
of  Antaeus,  and  the  overthrow  of  Cacus.  Antaeus 
was  a  noted  wrestler  and  athlete  whose  strength 
could  not  be  matched  so  long  as  his  feet  remained 
on  the  earth.  But  his  strength  was  derived  entirely 
from  the  ground;  when  Hercules  discovered  this, 


194  Classic  /iDvnbs  in  Hrt 

he  lifted  him  by  main  force,  and  crushed  out  his  life, 
holding  him  high  in  the  air. 

Pollajuolo's  Hercules  and  Antaeus  in  the  Uffizi 
is  a  specimen  of  the  fierce  and  savage  kind  of 
subject  which  this  artist  loved.  He  enjoyed 
showing  what  Symonds  calls  "  a  frenzy  of  mur- 
derous enthusiasm."  The  picture  is  described 
by  Vasari;  but  it  is  thought  that  the  critic  has 
reference  to  a  larger  picture  which  has  since 
disappeared.  He  tells  us  of  a  picture  of  Her- 
cules strangling  Antaeus :  "  The  force  employed  by 
him,"  remarks  Vasari,  "  in  crushing  his  antagonist 
is  clearly  apparent,  every  muscle  and  nerve  of  the 
body  being  strained  to  ensure  the  destruction  of  his 
opponent.  The  teeth,  firmly  set,  are  in  perfect  accord 
with  the  expression  of  the  other  parts  of  the  figure, 
all  of  which,  even  to  the  points  of  the  feet  on  which 
he  raises  himself,  give  manifest  imitation  of  the 
efforts  used.  Nor  is  less  care  displayed  in  the  figure 
of  Antaeus,  who,  pressed  by  the  arm  of  Hercules, 
is  seen  to  be  sinking,  and  deprived  of  all  power  of 
resistance;  his  mouth  is  open;  he  is  breathing  his 
last  sigh."  This  description  certainly  applies  also 
to  the  bronze  statue  in  the  Bargello,  where  it  is 
quite  evident  that  Pollajuolo  made  a  sculptural  study 
as  well  as  a  painting  of  this  subject. 

Ammanati  has  treated  his  Hercules  worse,  in  a 
fountain  at  Costello,  where  he  makes  the  athlete 


POLLAJUOLO.  —  HERCULES    AND    ANTVEUS. 


t>ercules  195 

squeeze  Antaeus  so  hard  that  the  fountain  gushes 
from  his  mouth!  It  is  not  a  pretty  thought  for 
a  drinking-water  supply. 

Cacus  was  a  great  giant  who  lived  in  a  cave  on 
Mount  Aventine,  and  tried,  by  a  subterfuge,  to  steal 
the  oxen  of  Geryon,  which  Hercules  was  driving. 
Hercules  took  summary  vengeance  on  him,  killing 
Cacus  at  once. 

Michelangelo  had  intended  making  a  statue  of 
Hercules  and  Cacus  to  adorn  the  Piazza  Signoria  in 
Florence,  together  with  his  David ;  and,  while  work- 
ing in  the  Carrara  mountains,  he  had  selected  a  block 
on  purpose  for  this  group.  During  the  reign  of  Leo 
X.,  he  made  several  studies  for  the  statue,  but  on 
the  death  of  this  Pope,  Clement  VII.  kept  him  so 
busy  in  working  for  the  glory  of  the  Medici,  that  he 
found  no  time  to  carry  out  his  intention,  and  later 
the  marble  was  obtained  by  Baccio  Bandinelli,  who 
finally  made  the  statue.  One  cannot  help  feeling, 
however,  what  a  different  inspiration  would  have 
been  shown  by  Michelangelo.  When  it  was  time 
for  the  block  of  marble  to  be  transported  from 
Carrara,  it  was  conveyed  by  water,  under  the  di- 
rection of  Bandinelli.  On  its  way  from  Signa  to 
Florence,  it  upset,  and,  being  of  enormous  weight, 
it  sunk  so  deep  in  the  mud  of  the  Arno  that  it  was 
thought  impossible  to  raise  it.  An  old  builder,  how- 
ever, who  was  an  ingenious  person,  devised  and 


196  Classic  /»£tbs  in  Hrt 

carried  out  a  plan  for  turning  the  Arno  aside  from 
its  course,  and,  with  much  digging,  and  many  wind- 
lasses, recovered  the  valuable  monolith.  The  wits  of 
the  period  turned  the  story  to  good  account;  one 
of  them  composed  verses,  the  import  being  that  the 
fair  marble,  finding  that  it  was  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  Baccio  Bandinelli,  had  thrown  itself  into  the  Arno 
with  suicidal  intent,  rather  than  submit  to  such  a 
fate !  When  the  Hercules  of  Bandinelli  was  placed 
upon  its  allotted  pedestal,  Baccio  recognized  that  the 
finish  was  too  smooth  for  a  statue  in  the  open  air ;  so, 
with  very  good  appreciation  for  his  period  and 
school,  he  had  a  scaffolding  built,  and  worked  the 
entire  surface  of  the  figures  over  again  with  a  chisel. 
Perhaps  the  group  deserves  Cellini's  sarcasm,  how- 
ever. It  is  indeed  no  better  than  "  a  wrestling  bout 
between  a  porter  and  a  coal-heaver."  Vasari  greatly 
admired  the  Hercules  and  Cacus,  alluding  to  Bandi- 
nelli as  "  him  who  had  placed  the  Hercules  and 
Cacus  almost  alive  in  marble  on  the  Piazza."  Rus- 
kin  disposes  of  it  simply  as  "  unimaginative." 

Of  the  three  ignominious  years  which  Hercules 
was  condemned  to  spend  in  the  service  of  Queen 
Omphale,  the  artists  have  taken  some  advantage. 
Omphale  is  usually  dressed  in  lion's  skins,  while 
Hercules  is  obliged  to  wear  women's  clothes.  Sit- 
ting by  the  distaff,  he  is  mocked  by  the  queen  and  her 
attendants. 


f>ercules  197 

A  Hercules  and  Omphale  in  Naples,  found  in 
Pompeii,  represents  the  hero  leaning  on  the  neck 
of  a  bearded  man,  with  a  playful  expression,  while 
Omphale,  holding  a  club,  looks  on  in  displeasure. 

In  Munich  is  a  treatment  of  this  episode  by 
Turchi.  Omphale  and  her  maids  are  jeering  at  the 
uncouth  efforts  of  Hercules  to  spin. 

Luca  Giordano  has  painted  an  out-of-door  scene 
representing  Hercules  and  Omphale,  which  looks 
more  like  a  Bacchanale.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
spindle  in  the  hand  of  Hercules,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  determine  the  subject,  except  for  the  presence 
of  a  little  emblematic  Hercules  strangling  serpents 
on  the  left. 

Spranger's  Hercules  and  Omphale  in  Vienna  is 
not  a  satisfactory  picture.  The  large,  and  yet  effem- 
inate Hercules  sits  spinning  in  the  garb  of  a  woman, 
while  the  queen,  entirely  nude,  stands  by,  her  back 
to  the  spectator,  turning  her  head  much  farther  than 
any  human  head  will  turn,  with  a  glance  intended 
to  be  coy.  Neither  the  back  nor  the  head  are  in 
anatomically  perfect  drawing. 

A  picture  by  Gleyre  shows  the  Hero  sitting  tamely 
at  the  feet  of  Omphale;  but  this  time  he  is  not  in 
female  guise,  nor  is  she  assuming  male  attire;  in- 
deed, she  looks  at  him  with  pity  and  interest,  and 
Cupid,  leaning  on  her  knee,  seems  to  be  suggesting 
to  her  gentle  thoughts  of  the  captive. 


198  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

Canova  has  modelled  a  terrific  Hercules,  quite  as 
gigantic  as  the  Farnese  statue,  which  is  in  the 
Torlonia,  in  Rome.  Hercules,  having  thrown  aside 
his  lion's  skin,  is  seen  completely  nude,  in  the  act  of 
casting  into  the  sea  the  harmless  and  unfortunate 
messenger  of  evil,  Lichias.  The  muscular  develop- 
ment of  this  enormous  torso  is  almost  repulsive,  and 
the  strained  skin,  stretched  in  wrinkled  folds  across 
the  chest  and  abdomen,  is  a  very  unlovely  touch, 
which  we  are  asked  to  believe  is  realistic. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THESEUS    AND    THE    CENTAURS 

THESEUS,  although  a  real  prince  of  Athens,  is  the 
subject  of  several  mythological  and  apocryphal 
narratives  which  have  been  chosen  by  artists  as 
scenes  to  be  perpetuated.  Among  the  most  famous 
of  these  are,  the  battle  of  the  Amazons,  and  the 
battle  between  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithae. 

And  Theseus,  too,  was  that  whilom  lover  of 
Ariadne,  who,  having  carried  away  the  maiden 
(who  had  performed  an  inestimable  service  in  pro- 
viding him  with  the  clue  to  escape  from  his  en- 
counter with  the  Minotaur  in  the  famous  laby- 
rinth), basely  deserted  her  on  the  shores  of  Naxos, 
and  sailed  heartlessly  away,  as  has  been  mentioned 
in  another  place. 

Dear  old  gossiping  Pausanias  relates  many  en- 
tertaining accounts  of  this  hero,  which  anecdotes, 
not  having  been  immortalized  in  art,  we  must  deny 
ourselves  the  pleasure  of  rehearsing.  One  pretty 
little  scandal,  however,  cannot  be  resisted,  for  it 

199 


200  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

paints  the  hero  in  two  different  characters,  —  as  a 
well-dressed  courtier,  who,  in  an  instant,  could 
be  converted  into  a  Hercules.  It  seems  that  Theseus 
was  floating  about  Athens,  incognito,  while  the  roof 
was  being  placed  upon  the  Temple  of  the  Delphian 
Apollo.  Theseus  was  evidently  something  of  a 
dandy :  "  having  a  long  garment  down  to  his  feet," 
says  Pausanias,  "  and  his  hair  being  elegantly 
plaited;  when  he  came  near  to  this  temple,  those 
who  were  building  the  roof  asked  him  jeeringly 
why  a  maiden,  ripe  for  marriage,  was  wandering 
about  alone?  And  his  only  answer,"  continues  the 
narrator,  "  was,  it  is  said,  unyoking  the  oxen  from 
the  wagon  which  stood  by,  and  throwing  it  in  the 
air  higher  than  the  roof  they  were  building."  There 
now!  See  what  one  gets  for  trifling  with  demi- 
gods !  We  moderns  can  only  wonder  why  Theseus 
should  have  drawn  the  line  at  the  oxen;  the  whole 
team  would  have  been  such  an  imposing  aerial  dis- 
play, and  would  have  provided  an  adequate  origin 
for  the  nursery  rhyme  about  the  cow  that  jumped 
over  the  moon.  Theseus,  always  a  patron  of  ath- 
letics, established  regular  training-schools  for  wres- 
tling; Pausanias  explains,  "  Before  the  time  of 
Theseus  only  size  and  strength  were  made  use  of 
in  wrestling." 

After  Theseus  had  so  unkindly  deserted  Ariadne, 
he  had   occasion   to   enter   into   battle   with   those 


Ubeseus  anfc  tbe  Centaurs          201 

terrible  female  warriors,  the  Amazons.  Pausanias 
describes  the  event,  and  accounts  for  the  victory 
that  Theseus  obtained  over  Antiope,  the  Queen  of 
the  Amazons.  He  records  that  there  is  a  monument 
to  Antiope  the  Amazon,  in  Athens.  He  then  quote, 
the  two  accounts  of  the  fame  of  Antiope;  he  says 
that  one  authority  claims  that  she  was  carried  off 
by  Theseus,  but  that  another  states  that  Antiope, 
"  being  enamoured  of  Theseus  (who  was  besieg- 
ing the  place  with  Hercules),  handed  the  place  over 
to  him."  Plutarch  corroborates  this  statement,  say- 
ing :  "  That  this  war  was  ended  by  a  treaty  is  evi- 
dent." Theseus,  however,  was  volatile  in  his  affec- 
tions, and  selected  the  Amazon  Hyppolite  for  his 
bride,  and  apparently  behaved  in  a  very  unseemly 
way.  His  faithful  Plutarch  observes :  "  There  are 
also  other  traditions  of  the  marriages  of  Theseus, 
neither  honourable  in  their  occasions,  nor  fortunate 
in  their  events."  But  it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
follow  the  amorous  career  of  Theseus,  but  to  con- 
sider the  artistic  representations  of  the  battle  of  the 
Amazons. 

On  the  frieze  of  the  Temple  of  Apollo  in  Phiga- 
leia,  the  Amazonian  conflict  is  sculptured  in  detail. 
Here  may  be  seen  the  powerful  masculine  figures 
contrasting  with  those  of  the  women ;  in  one  place, 
a  Greek  has  seized  an  Amazon  by  her  hair,  while 
another  has  administered  a  death-blow,  and  the 


202  Classic  tfDgtbs  in  Hrt 

woman  sinks  to  the  ground.  Judging  from  the 
treatment  of  this  frieze,  it  would  not  have  been 
necessary  to  account  for  the  victory  of  the  Greeks 
by  anything  but  brute  force.  In  one,  it  is  easy  to 
recognize  Theseus  by  the  lion's  skin  which  he  wore, 
and  the  club,  which,  in  imitation  of  Hercules,  he 
always  carried.  The  draperies  of  the  Amazons  in 
these  sculptures  are  of  the  highest  beauty,  and  of 
great  diversity.  Some  wear  long  tunics,  while 
others  have  short  vests  only  to  the  knees ;  one  of  the 
Amazons,  on  horseback,  has  long  sleeves,  and  long 
trousers  in  her  undergarment.  Most  of  them  wear 
boots,  and  all  are  belted.  Unfortunately  the  sculp- 
tures are  much  defaced,  and  it  happens  that  in  no 
instance  is  the  weapon  of  an  Amazon  discernible, 
except  bows  and  spears,  which  were  used  at  a  dis- 
tance. For  hand-to-hand  conflict  there  must  have 
been  other  provision  made. 

Symonds  calls  attention  to  the  bas-reliefs  on  the 
temple  at  Selinus,  now  in  the  Museum  of  Palermo 
(especially  one  of  Hercules  fighting  with  the 
Amazons),  where  the  trick  of  using  plain  sandstone 
for  the  figures  of  the  men,  and  white  marble  for 
the  flesh  of  the  women,  has  been  employed  with 
really  artistic  success.  "  Most  beautiful  is  the  con- 
trast between  the  young  unarmed  Hercules  and 
the  Amazon  he  overpowers.  His  naked  man's  foot 
grasps  with  the  muscular  energy  of  the  athlete  her 


Ubeseus  anfc  tbe  Centaurs          203 

soft  and  helpless  woman's  foot,  the  roughness  of  the 
sandstone  and  the  smoothness  of  the  marble  really 
heightening  the  effect  of  difference." 

The  Battle  of  the  Amazons  occurs  on  other  reliefs 
and  slabs;  one,  on  a  sarcophagus,  is  striking  in  its 
symmetry  and  beauty,  the  two  central  figures  being 
Amazons  mounted  on  curvetting  steeds.  All  the 
figures,  male  and  female,  are  splendidly  modelled. 

Rubens's  Battle  of  the  Amazons  in  Munich  is  an 
animated  scene.  In  the  centre  of  a  bridge  which 
spans  the  river,  Theseus  and  the  Queen  of  the 
Amazons  are  in  violent  conflict,  with  many  of  their 
respective  followers.  The  animus  spreads  even  to 
the  horses,  who  are  biting  one  another  in  real  spite. 
A  half-nude  warrior  grasps  the  banner  of  an  Ama- 
zon, who  is  fleeing  the  scene  of  carnage,  but  who, 
resisting  his  onslaught,  is  dragging  backward  and 
is  falling  from  her  horse,  owing  to  a  wound  re- 
ceived from  the  leader's  sword.  The  conquered, 
and  the  horses  who  have  lost  their  riders,  are  flying 
in  wild  confusion  on  the  right.  On  the  left  side,  the 
warriors  and  Amazons  ride  fiercely  on,  over  dead 
bodies,  until  they  reach  the  river,  where  some  of 
them  are  seen  plunging  in,  unable  to  check  their 
fiery  progress  in  time.  Under  the  central  bridge 
is  seen  a  boat,  so  overloaded  with  fugitives  that  it 
is  sinking.  In  the  far  distance,  a  town,  enveloped 
in  flames,  completes  the  scene  of  destruction. 


204  Classic  fl&stbs  in  art 

Among  the  chief  exploits  of  Theseus  may  be 
noted  the  battle  between  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithae. 
At  the  wedding  of  Pirithous  and  Hippodamia,  the 
Centaurs  were  among  the  guests.  One  of  them, 
Eurytion,  was  indiscreet  enough  to  take  too  much 
to  drink,  and  then  became  unduly  familiar  in  his 
manner  toward  the  bride.  Led  by  Theseus,  the 
guests  arose,  and  a  mighty  war  was  waged  at  once. 

The  Centaurs  were  among  the  quaintest  of  the 
classic  monstrous  conceptions.  Half  man  and  half 
horse,  they  were  represented  originally  with  only 
the  hind  legs  of  a  horse,  the  fore  legs  being  human, 
with  men's  feet,  which  arrangement  is  far  more 
weird  and  grotesque  than  the  more  usual  horse 
with  a  man's  torso  and  head. 

The  origin  of  the  antipathy  between  men  and  the 
Centaurs  is  indicated  by  the  legend  told  in  the 
Odyssey :  "  Was  it  not  wine  that  ...  led  astray 
the  famous  Centaur  Eurytion  when  he  came  to  the 
feast  of  the  Lapiths?  Overmuch  wine  subdued  his 
wits,  and  in  his  madness  he  did  shameful  deeds 
within  the  palace.  Keen  wrath  fell  upon  the  heroes ; 
they  arose  and  with  the  sharp  bronze  did  they  cut 
his  ears  and  nostrils,  and  drew  him  out  of  the  por- 
tals, all  blood-stained,  with  venom  in  his  heart.  And 
from  that  time  .  .  .  was  there  war  kindled  between 
men  and  the  Centaurs." 

The  metopes  of  the  Parthenon  are  the  best-known 


20$ 

representations  of  the  battle  between  the  Centaurs 
and  Lapiths.  All  remember  the  struggling  couples, 
apparently  so  unequally  matched;  one  Centaur  is 
about  to  brain  his  adversary  with  a  wine-jug,  while 
the  Lapith,  instead  of  defending  himself,  holds  his 
shield  at  his  side.  e 

In  the  first  metope  a  Centaur  is  overcome,  and  has 
sunk  upon  his  knees,  while  the  victor,  with  his  arm 
around  the  neck  of  the  Centaur,  is  about  to  ad- 
minister the  final  blow.  One  shows  a  Centaur  lifting 
and  carrying  off  a  female  guest,  and  another  ex- 
hibits a  barbarian  attempt  to  embrace  a  woman. 
Among  these  powerful  little  groups  is  one  of  a  man 
and  a  Centaur  with  locked  knees,  in  a  critical 
moment.  The  Centaur  has  the  man  by  the  throat, 
while  the  man's  fist  is  striking  the  Centaur  in  the 
eye.  It  is  a  moment  of  transition,  —  we  do  not 
know  the  outcome. 

Wonderful  vitality  and  activity  are  exhibited  in 
all  these  metopes,  and  they  should  be  carefully 
studied  by  all  lovers  of  Greek  art. 

On  the  Temple  of  Theseus  at  Athens  were  the 
most  remarkable  sculptures,  now  in  the  British 
Museum,  representing  the  battle  between  the  Cen- 
taurs and  Lapithae.  A  similar  frieze  existed  at  the 
Temple  of  Apollo  at  Phigaleia.  Of  these  last  frag- 
ments the  grouping  is  more  complex  than  is  the 
case  on  the  Parthenon  sculptures;  incidents  and 


206  Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

episodes  of  great  excitement  occur.  One  Centaur 
is  biting  a  man's  shoulder,  while  he  kicks  furiously 
with  his  hind  legs.  One  is  trying  to  abduct  a  woman 
with  a  child  in  her  arms;  one  is  being  forcibly 
dragged  back  from  a  group  of  three  women; 
another  is  seen  held  down  by  the  hair  of  his  head, 
while  the  knee  of  a  Lapith  is  planted  firmly  in  his 
back;  numerous  encounters  of  the  most  thrilling 
character  are  depicted. 

On  the  Temple  of  Theseus,  at  Athens,  the  scenes 
portrayed  are  similar  to  those  on  the  Temple  of 
Apollo  just  enumerated.  One  of  the  Centaurs  is 
hurling  a  stone  upon  his  prostrate  enemy,  but,  as 
a  rule,  out  of  compliment  to  Theseus,  the  victory 
seems  to  be  with  the  Lapithae. 

"  In  the  Temple  of  Theseus,"  saith  Pausanias, 
"  is  also  painted  the  fight  between  the  Centaurs  and 
Lapithae.  Theseus  is  represented  as  having  just 
slain  a  Centaur,  but  with  all  the  rest  of  the  picture, 
the  fight  seems  to  be  on  equal  terms." 

In  the  Casa  Buonarotti  in  Florence  may  be  seen 
the  bas-relief  by  Michelangelo  of  this  scene.  It  is 
extremely  confused  —  heads,  bodies,  and  legs  (both 
human  and  equine)  are  inextricably  mixed.  The 
bodies  of  the  Centaurs  are  difficult  to  distinguish 
from  those  of  the  heroes;  but,  as  all  the  wounded 
persons  in  the  foreground  are  bipeds,  it  must  be 
assumed  that  Michelangelo  believed  that  four  feet 


TOeseus  anfc  tbe  Centaurs          207 

were  better  than  two,  at  any  rate  when  it  came  to 
warfare.  Such  a  natural  cavalry  would  probably 
have  overcome  foot-soldiers,  had  the  numbers  not 
been  unequal! 

Canova's  statue  of  Theseus  and  the  Centaur  in  the 
Volksgarten,  in  Vienna,  displays  the  great  power  of 
the  hero,  who  has  forced  his  opponent  down  upon 
his  knees,  crumpling  his  legs  in  a  most  regardless 
way;  he  has  him  by  the  throat,  and,  with  his  club 
in  his  right  hand,  is  about  to  bring  it  down  upon  the 
monster's  averted  head.  The  figure  is  full  of  power, 
and,  although  a  little  academic,  is  among  the  best 
works  of  the  master. 

In  the  Louvre  is  an  antique  marble  group  of  a 
Centaur  ridden  by  Cupid.  The  Centaur,  with  both 
hands  behind  him,  steps  serenely  on,  his  head  thrown 
back,  while  the  little  conqueror  urges  him  forward 
with  his  infant  hand.  The  facial  expression  of  the 
poor  hybrid  is  pathetic  —  full  of  yearning  and  suffer- 
ing. This  view  of  him  is  milder  and  more  human 
than  most  representations  of  its  class. 

In  speaking  of  the  statue  of  a  Centaur  ridden  by 
Cupid,  in  the  Borghese,  Doctor  Moore  contributes 
a  valuable  thought.  He  says :  "  Among  the 
antiques  there  is  a  Centaur  in  marble,  with  a  Cupid 
mounted  on  his  back.  The  latter  has  the  cestus  of 
Venus  and  the  ivy-crown  of  Bacchus,  in  allusion 
to  Beauty  and  Wine.  He  beats  the  Centaur  with  his 


208  Classic  /iDvtbs  in  Hrt 

fist,  and  seems  to  kick  with  violence  to  drive  him 
along.  The  Centaur  throws  back  his  head  and  eyes 
with  a  look  of  remorse,  as  if  he  were  unwilling, 
though  forced,  to  proceed.  The  execution  of  this 
group  is  admired  by  those  who  look  upon  it  merely 
as  a  jeu-d' esprit;  but  it  acquires  additional  merit 
when  considered  allegorical  of  men  who  are  hurried 
on  by  the  violence  of  their  passions,  and  lament  their 
own  weakness  while  they  find  themselves  unable  to 
resist." 

Lucian  tells  of  an  interesting  picture  by  Zeuxis, 
the  famous  Greek  artist  of  the  fourth  century  B.  c., 
the  subject  being  a  family  of  Centaurs.  Lucian  saw 
a  copy  of  this  picture  in  Athens,  and  describes  it 
vividly.  There  is  much  originality  displayed  in  the 
details,  considering  the  early  date  of  its  production. 
In  this  picture  "  on  a  grass-plat  of  the  most  glossy 
verdure  lies  the  Centauress,  with  the  whole  equine 
part  of  her  stretched  on  the  ground,  the  hind  feet 
extending  backwards,  while  the  upper  female  part 
is  gently  raised  and  reclining  on  one  elbow."  Two 
young  ones  are  with  her ;  one,  in  her  arms,  is  a  Cen- 
taur baby.  The  male  Centaur  stands  near  them, 
"  looking  down  upon  her  with  a  complacent  smile, 
holding  up  in  one  hand  the  whelp  of  a  lion,  as  if 
jocosely  to  frighten  his  little  ones  with  it."  A  curi- 
ous domestic  scene,  truly! 

The  Centaurs,  however,  indulged  in  occasional 


anfc  tbe  Centaurs          209 

civil  warfare;  all  scenes  were  not  as  peaceful  as  that 
just  described.  Antonio  Pollajuolo,  who  loved  a 
clear  line  better  for  its  own  sake  than  for  where  it 
might  lead  his  pencil,  left  us  a  strange  conception 
of  Centaurs  in  his  engraving,  The  Strife  of  the  Cen- 
taurs. Two  weird  creatures,  one  rather  like  the 
usual  Centaur  represented  in  art,  and  the  other  with 
the  body  and  feet  of  a  lion,  are  fighting  vigorously 
before  an  admiring  group  of  three  men  in  elaborate 
armour  chiefly  of  Roman  conceit.  The  Centaur 
with  the  horse's  body  is  in  the  centre  of  the  compo- 
sition, and  is  down  on  one  front  knee  (by  the  way, 
his  hoofs  are  carefully  shod  with  nailed  shoes),  while 
with  both  arms  he  raises  above  his  head  a  formi- 
dable weapon  composed  of  a  club  with  three  great 
metal  balls  attached  to  it  by  long  chains.  With  this 
flail-like  club  he  is  about  to  strike  his  adversary, 
who,  with  the  body  of  a  lion,  thickly  clustered  with 
tufts  of  hair,  and  with  long  claws,  is  attacking  him 
with  both  his  well-armed  forefeet,  as  well  as  with 
a  similar  weapon,  which  he  holds  on  high.  The 
faces  and  heads  of  these  creatures  are  brutish,  with 
shocks  of  unkempt  hair,  and  their  gnarled  muscles 
show  up  clearly  through  their  skin. 

The  solemn  ascetic  Centaur  of  Botticelli,  which 
occurs  in  his  great  picture  in  the  Royal  Gallery  in 
Florence,  of  Pallas  and  the  Centaur,  is  a  myth  out 
of  season.  He  has  survived  longer  than  he  is 


Classic  ADptbs  in  Hrt 

needed,  and  he  feels  his  loneliness  and  redundancy 
in  the  days  of  the  Medici.  He  is  not  a  classic  beast; 
he  could  not  meet  Theseus  in  battle;  he  is  kindly 
disposed,  tired,  and  worn  out,  wishing  only  to  be 
let  alone,  and  not  teased. 

In  the  Capitoline  Museum  is  a  fine  statue  of  a 
jovial  Centaur  stepping  along  gaily,  snapping  his 
fingers,  and  carrying  a  garlanded  twig  over  his 
shoulder.  The  skin  of  a  wild  animal  is  slung  care- 
lessly across  his  arm.  This  figure  is  perhaps  the  most 
typical  of  any  of  the  artistic  representations  of  the 
Centaurs. 

The  statue  of  the  Centaur  being  slain  by  Hercules 
in  the  Loggia  di  Lanzi  in  Florence,  is  one  of 
Giovanni  da  Bologna's  most  powerful  creations. 
The  brute  seems  anatomically  possible,  as  he 
crouches  on  his  four  legs  under  the  strong  pressure 
of  the  demigod,  who  is  bending  the  human  part 
of  the  creature's  spine  backward  at  a  terrible  angle. 
Hercules  evidently  has  designs  upon  his  solar 
plexus,  which  he  is  about  to  strike  with  his  club. 
The  vanquished  Centaur  is  feebly  resisting,  with  his 
hands,  but  is  unable  to  do  much  in  his  own  defence. 


ANTIQUE    BRONZE.  —  A    CENTAUR. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PERSEUS 

PERSEUS  was  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Danae.  On 
the  pedestal  of  the  statue  of  Perseus,  by  Cellini, 
in  the  Loggia  di  Lanzi  in  Florence,  is  a  statuette 
of  Danae,  the  boy  Perseus  seated  at  her  feet.  The 
figure  is  extremely  charming,  —  it  is  also  the  work 
of  Cellini. 

The  first  adventure  of  Perseus  was  the  quest  of 
Medusa.  She  was  the  most  terrible  of  the  Gorgons ; 
the  mere  sight  of  her  face  had  the  power  of  turn- 
ing a  man  to  stone.  This  uncanny  quality  made  her 
a  difficult  foe  to  attack.  Apollodorus  describes  the 
Gorgons  :  "  Their  heads  were  wreathed  with  snakes, 
they  had  teeth  like  the  tusks  of  a  wild  boar,  hands 
of  bronze,  and  golden  wings." 

Perseus  set  out  with  the  determination  of  reduc- 
ing these  terrible  sisters  to  subjection.  Mercury 
and  Minerva  aided  him.  Minerva  gave  him  her  own 
shield,  which  reflected  images  like  a  mirror.  Mer- 


Classic  /IDstbs  in  Hrt 

cury  gave  him  his  own  winged  sandals,  so  that 
Perseus  might  fly  through  the  air  upon  this  perilous 
undertaking,  while  Pluto  lent  him  a  magic  helmet, 
which  had  the  power  of  rendering  the  wearer  invis- 
ible. 

The  sea-maidens  bore  these  gifts  to  Perseus. 
Burne-Jones  has  composed  a  beautiful  decorative 
picture  of  the  arming  of  Perseus  on  the  shore.  He 
is  in  the  act  of  adjusting  one  of  the  winged  sandals, 
while  the  three  maidens,  sober  as  Botticelli's  Graces, 
stand  by,  with  the  helmet  and  the  other  sandal. 
In  their  statuesque  grace  these  figures,  with  their 
beautiful  clinging  draperies,  are  a  delightful  link- 
ing between  mediaeval  sentiment  and  a  cultivated 
appreciation  and  accurate  knowledge  of  all  things 
Greek.  At  a  temple  of  Athena  among  the  Lace- 
daemonians, Pausanias  tells  us  of  a  relief  of  "  the 
nymphs  giving  Perseus,  as  he  is  starting  for  Libya 
and  Medusa,  the  invisible  cap  and  the  sandals  with 
which  he  could  fly  through  the  air." 

First  Perseus  visited  the  cave  of  the  Graie,  three 
grim  sisters  who  lived  in  loneness  and  sorrow,  hav- 
ing but  one  eye  between  them,  which  they  passed 
about  from  one  to  the  other.  Perseus,  invisible, 
swooped  down  upon  the  poor  blind  creatures,  and 
stole  the  eye  as  it  was  on  its  way  from  one  sister 
to  another.  Before  he  would  restore  this,  their  one 
priceless  possession,  he  forced  them  to  tell  him  the 


Perseus  213 

way  to  the  Gorgon's  island.  Burne- Jones  again  has 
painted  the  Graie  with  all  the  feeling  of  a  poet; 
the  three  bent  forms,  lovely  in  their  impotence, 
reaching  helplessly  about  for  their  missing  member, 
are  pathetic  in  their  rhythmical  decorative  grace. 
The  expression  of  yearning  and  groping  is  wonder- 
fully portrayed. 

Knowing  the  fate  which  awaited  any  one  who 
should  behold  the  face  of  Medusa,  Perseus  winged 
his  way  carefully,  and  approached  the  Gorgon  while 
she  slept.  Then,  descending  rapidly  through  the  air, 
holding  the  burnished  shield  so  that  it  reflected  the 
image  of  Medusa,  by  its  aid,  as  it  were  in  a  mirror, 
he  cut  off  her  head. 

One  of  the  metopes,  from  a  temple  of  Selinous  in 
Sicily,  represents  Perseus  slaying  the  Gorgon,  in  the 
presence  of  Minerva.  At  first  glance  one  would  sup- 
pose that  this  was  intended  for  a  burlesque,  so 
absolutely  ridiculous  are  the  human  proportions  and 
the  facial  expressions.  The  work  is  that  of  the 
early  sixth  century  B.  c.  Individually  each  leg  and 
arm  are  studied  carefully,  probably  from  living 
models ;  but  the  relations  of  the  various  parts  to  the 
whole  is  absurd.  Medusa,  kneeling,  has  Pegasus 
cuddled  under  her  arm.  Her  face  is  as  large  as  her 
whole  body,  and  the  expression  that  of  a  staring 
grin ;  Perseus,  holding  her  by  the  hair  with  one  hand 
(the  top  of  his  person  facing  the  spectator,  while 


a i4  Classic  fl&stbs  in  Hrt 

his  legs  are  in  profile),  is  in  the  act  of  applying  a 
knife  to  the  Gorgon's  throat,  while  he  smiles 
genially  from  between  an  enormous  pair  of  ears. 
He  wears  a  hat  like  Mercury's,  and  a  couple  of 
Ionian  volutes  appear  to  be  strapped  to  his  ankles 
in  lieu  of  wings.  Minerva,  with  a  peevish  expres- 
sion, faces  straight  out,  while  her  feet  are  both  seen 
at  full  length  turning  to  the  right.  All  the  person- 
ages are  slightly  cross-eyed,  which  adds  to  the 
general  effect.  This  metope  may  be  seen  reproduced 
in  Von  Reber's  "  History  of  Ancient  Art,"  and  is 
well  worth  examining. 

The  Perseus  and  the  Gorgon,  in  the  Farnesina,  by 
Peruzzi,  is  original,  although  it  is  stiff  and  too  con- 
ventional in  treatment.  The  figures  are  on  the 
clouds.  A  colossal  Victory  blows  her  horn  above 
them. 

One  of  the  most  famous  statues  in  the  world  is 
the  Perseus  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.  As  it  stands  in 
the  Loggia  di  Lanzi,  it  has  intense  life  and  sinewy 
grace.  Cellini,  while  he  had  the  wit  of  a  courtier, 
had  the  soul  of  an  animal.  In  making  statues  he 
expressed,  not  his  wit,  but  his  soul,  and  the  result 
is  vacuity  of  facial  expression,  with  fine  animal 
proportions.  The  account  of  the  casting  of  this 
statue  in  Cellini's  biography  is  one  of  the  most 
thrilling  chapters  in  art  history.  The  episode  is  also 
well  given  by  Longfellow  in  his  "  Michael  Angelo." 


Perseus  215 

"And  ah!    that  casting! 
What  a  wild  scene  it  was  as,  late  at  night, 
A  night  of  wind,  and  rain,  we  heaped  the  furnace 
With  pine  of  Serristori  .  .  ." 

Benvenuto  relates  how  discouraged  they  all  be- 
came, standing  around  the  great  blaze,  and  yet  not 
seeing  the  result  for  which  they  had  hoped: 

"They  all  stood 

"  Bewildered  and  desponding ;    and  I  looked 
Into  the  furnace,  and  beheld  the  mass 
Half-molten  only,  and  in  my  despair 
I  fed  the  fire  with  oak,  whose  terrible  heat 
Soon  made  the  sluggish  metal  shine  and  sparkle. 
Then  followed  a  bright  flash,  and  an  explosion 
As  if  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  among  us. 
The  covering  of  the  furnace  had  been  rent 
Asunder,  and  the  bronze  was  flowing  over, 
So  that  I  straightway  opened  all  the  sluices 
To  fill  the  mould.     The  metal  ran  like  lava, 
Sluggish  and  heavy;    and  I  sent  my  workmen 
To  ransack  the  whole  house,  and  bring  together 
My  pewter  plates  and  pans,  two  hundred  of  them, 
And  cast  them  one  by  one  into  the  furnace, 
To  liquify  the  mass,  and  in  a  moment 
The  mould  was  filled !     I  fell  upon  my  knees 
And  thanked  the  Lord ;   and  then  we  ate  and  drank 
And  went  to  bed,  all  hearty  and  contented." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  many  criticisms  may  be 
made  upon  the  Perseus,  it  is  certainly  a  triumph 
of  ornamental  sculpture.  The  rearing  grace  of  the 


216  Classic  /IDstbs  in  art 

figure,  extended  by  the  arm  held  aloft,  and  by  the 
fact  that  it  is  standing  on  the  fallen  Gorgon,  gives 
a  soaring  impression  to  the  whole  work  suggestive 
of  victory.  His  contemporaries  were  wild  with 
enthusiasm;  sonnets  and  poems  were  written  to  the 
statue,  and  Cellini  was  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

Canova  sculptured  "  an  elegant  effeminate  figure  " 
of  Perseus,  as  Taine  calls  it;  that  characterizes  the 
work.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  the  thoroughly  classical 
head  and  general  bearing  are  very  beautiful.  It  is 
in  the  Vatican ;  the  profile  is  wonderfully  Greek,  and 
the  turn  of  the  helmeted  head  is  reminiscent  of  the 
Apollo  Belvedere.  Ruskin,  who  is  nothing  if  not 
intolerant  about  details  which  do  not  appeal  to  him, 
remarks  that  the  Perseus  of  Canova  is  "  entirely 
spoiled  by  an  unlucky  tassel  in  the  folds  of  the 
mantle,  which  the  next  admirer  of  Canova  who 
passes  would  do  well  to  knock  off."  He  goes  on 
to  qualify  this  almost  iconoclastic  advice  by  say- 
ing that  it  is  because  the  tassel  is  an  unnecessary 
truth  to  nature.  There  are  certain  "  truths  to 
nature "  which  Ruskin  highly  advocates ;  for  in- 
stance, a  button,  where  a  button  is  manifestly  essen- 
tial; but  a  tassel  where  it  is  not  needed  is  a  sin 
against  aesthetics. 

The  head  of  Medusa  was  a  regularly  recognized 
emblem  of  terror.  In  early  days,  appearing  on  coins, 
it  was  undisguised  as  a  mask  of  hideousness.  By 


Perseus  217 

degrees  the  type  changed,  and  in  later  art  Medusa 
was  usually  portrayed  as  a  beautiful  woman.  In  the 
Villa  Ludovisi  is  a  head  of  Medusa  which  is  quite 
lovely,  with  no  vestiges  of  the  supernatural  except 
tiny  wings  on  the  head,  and,  of  course,  the  snaky 
locks. 

Minerva,  pleased  at  the  prowess  of  her  protege, 
took  the  head  of  Medusa  as  an  ornament  for  her 
shield.  In  all  periods  of  art  this  is  usually  seen  in 
the  centre  of  the  goddess's  shield.  It  typifies 
intense  cold.  Serpents  were  associated  with  the 
idea  of  coldness  by  the  Greeks.  The  Gorgon's  head 
on  Minerva's  shield  signifies  the  "  cloudy  coldness 
of  knowledge,  and  its  venomous  character,"  accord- 
ing to  Ruskin. 

The  most  realistic  and  thrilling  Medusa's  head 
is  that  in  the  Uffizi,  usually  attributed  to  Leonardo 
da  Vinci.  Later  critics  generally  agree  that  this 
was  painted  afterward  from  a  description  by  Vasari, 
taken  from  the  original,  which  was  for  a  long  time  in 
the  possession  of  Cosimo  I.  de  Medici.  It  was,  un- 
doubtedly, one  of  the  greatest  works  of  Leonardo, 
and  this  copy  from  Vasari  is  made  with  sympathy 
and  appreciation.  The  original  was  on  a  panel  cut 
from  the  heart  of  a  fig-tree,  and  shaped  like  the 
shield  of  Perseus.  Vasari  speaks  of  it  as  "  the  most 
strange  and  extravagant  invention  that  could  possi- 
bly be  conceived."  The  story  goes  that  Leonardo, 


Classic  flDptbs  in  Hrt 

when  about  to  paint  this  head  of  Medusa,  brought 
into  his  house  one  day  a  regular  collection  of 
creatures,  —  toads,  vipers,  newts,  lizards,  —  all 
varieties  of  reptiles  upon  which  he  could  lay  his 
hands.  And  the  result  was  this  horrible,  loathsome 
bit  of  realism,  too  convincing  and  well-executed  to 
be  relegated  among  things  simply  disgusting,  — 
this  "  snake-enwoven  head,"  says  Symonds,  "  exhal- 
ing poisonous  vapour  from  the  livid  lips." 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  substratum  of  history 
to  the  story  of  Medusa.  Pausanias  says :  "To  omit 
fable,  it  has  been  recorded  of  her  that  .  .  .  she  ruled 
over  the  people  that  lived  near  the  Tritonian  Marsh, 
and  used  to  go  out  hunting,  and  led  the  Libyans  to 
battle,  and  moreover  resisted  with  her  army  the 
power  of  Perseus,  though  picked  men  followed  him 
from  Peloponnese,  but  she  was  treacherously  slain 
by  night,  and  Perseus,  marvelling  at  her  beauty  even 
after  death,  cut  off  her  head  and  brought  it  home 
to  display  to  the  Greeks." 

Among  modern  works,  the  Perseus  of  M.  Blanc 
stands  out  strikingly.  The  vigorous  youth,  mounted 
on  Pegasus,  is  flying  high  over  the  low  shore  coun- 
try, with  the  Gorgon's  head  held  aloft  in  his  hand, 
its  mouth  still  open,  and  a  very  restrained  growth 
of  snakes  writhing  above  the  brow.  The  horse  is 
flying  away  from  the  spectator,  thus  exhibiting  the 
splendid  muscles  in  the  back  of  the  hero.  He  turns 


Perseus  219 

his  head,  displaying  his  powerful  throat  and  Greek 
profile. 

When  Perseus  had  successfully  slain  the  Gorgon, 
he  grasped  the  severed  head  firmly  by  the  snaky 
hair,  and,  "  bearing  the  memorable  spoil  of  the 
viperous  monster,"  says  Ovid,  "  cut  the  yielding 
air  on  hissing  wings,"  as  he  flew  away  over  seas 
with  his  hideous  burden,  taking  care  to  hold  it  so  that 
he  could  not  see  the  evil  countenance. 

On  this  flight  he  espied  a  maiden  chained  to  a  rock 

—  Andromeda  —  in  all  her  nude  beauty.    He  paused 

—  at  a  glance  he  saw  the  situation.    A  nai've  bit  of 
realism  slips  into  Ovid's  account  of  the  scene :  "  Un- 
consciously he  takes  fire  and  is  astonished;    capti- 
vated with  the  appearance  of  her  beauty,  he  almost 
forgets  to  wave  his  wings  in  the  air."    Imagine  the 
double  disaster  which  would  have  ensued  if  such  a 
state  of  things  had  quite  come  to  pass !    He  sees  the 
monster  advancing;    he  must  act.     He  quickly  de- 
scends to  the  earth,  and  drives  a  bargain  with  the 
parents  of  the  maiden,  that  she  is  to  be  his  if  he 
preserves  her  life;   they  are  hardly  in  a  position  to 
refuse.     Ovid  gives  a  glowing  description  of  the 
attack  upon  the  monster,  which  advanced,  "  moving 
the  waves  by  the  impulse  of  its  breast."     Suddenly, 
"  the  youth,  spurning  the  earth  with  his  feet,  rose 
on  high  into  the  clouds.    As  the  shadow  of  the  hero 
was  seen  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  the  monster 


Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

vented  his  fury  on  the  shadow  so  beheld.  And  as 
the  bird  of  Jove,  when  he  has  espied  on  the  silent 
plain  a  serpent  exposing  his  livid  back  to  the  sun, 
seizes  it  behind,  and,  lest  it  should  turn  upon  him 
its  raging  mouth,  fixes  his  greedy  talons  in  its  scaly 
neck,  so  did  the  winged  hero,  in  his  rapid  flight 
through  the  yielding  air,  press  the  back  of  the 
monster,  and  thrust  his  sword  up  to  the  very  hilt 
in  its  right  shoulder,  as  it  roared  aloud." 

Tatius,  in  the  Greek  novel,  "  Cleitophon  and 
Leucippe,"  has  given  a  graphic  picture  of  Perseus 
and  Andromeda,  —  the  earliest  description  of  a 
painting  of  this  subject  which  has  come  down  to 
modern  times.  "  For  the  painter,"  he  says,  "  had 
roughened  the  bosom  of  the  rock  just  as  it  comes 
from  mother  earth.  And  on  this  place  stood  An- 
dromeda, and  the  sight  was,  if  you  regarded  the 
beauty  alone,  like  to  some  newly  carved  statue;  but 
if  you  considered  only  the  chains  and  the  great  sea- 
monster,  like  to  a  rude  and  rough-hewn  tomb.  And 
in  her  face  were  mingled  beauty  and  fear,  for  on  her 
cheeks  sat  fear  and  in  her  eyes  bloomed  beauty,  — 
but  neither  was  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks  untinged  by 
red,  —  for  a  gentle  blush  o'erspread  them,  —  nor 
was  the  beauty  of  her  eyes  untroubled,  since  they 
were  like  to  violets  which  were  just  beginning  to 
fade.  Even  thus  had  the  painter  fashioned  her  beau- 
teous for  all  her  fear.  And  her  hands  were  stretched 


Perseus  221 

to  the  rock,  arid  a  chain  across  them  held  them  fast 
thereto.  ...  So  she,  bound  thus,  awaited  death, 
standing  all  arrayed  as  a  bride,  and  bedecked  as  one 
who  should  be  the  bride  of  Adonis.  Her  tunic  fell 
to  her  feet,  all  white,  of  subtlest  mesh,  like  to  a 
spider's  web;  not  made  of  the  fleece  of  lambs,  but 
of  the  wool  of  trees,  such  as  the  wives  of  India  weave 
and  spin,  dragging  it  from  the  trees."  This  is  an 
interesting  allusion  to  cotton,  which  the  Greeks  em- 
ployed in  their  thinner  draperies.  "  And  right  oppo- 
site to  the  maiden,"  continues  Tatius,  "  from  below, 
the  great  sea-monster  is  coming  up,  scattering  the 
waves  on  either  side  of  him."  Then  follows  a  real- 
istic description  of  the  dragon,  with  his  scales, 
ridges,  and  fins,  and  twisting  tail.  "  Long  and  wide 
were  his  jaws,  which  opened  right  back  to  where 
his  shoulders  joined,  —  and  then  came  his  stomach 
at  once."  A  formidable  beast,  surely;  and  one 
admirably  adapted  to  his  work  of  consuming  human 
victims.  Then  comes  the  climax  of  the  scene.  "  Be- 
tween the  monster  and  the  maiden  Perseus  was 
painted,  descending  upon  the  monster  all  naked 
except  for  a  cloak  upon  his  shoulders,  and  sandals  on 
his  two  feet  like  unto  wings,  and  a  cap  covered  his 
head ;  ...  in  his  left  hand  he  grasped  the  Gorgon's 
head  and  held  it  before  him  like  a  shield.  Fearful  it 
is  even  in  colours,  .  .  .  this  was  the  weapon  Perseus 


222  Classic  flDptbs  in  art 

held  in  his  left  hand ;  and  his  right  hand  was  armed 
with  a  two-bladed  weapon." 

Pausanias  says  that  at  the  spot  where  Perseus 
slew  the  dragon  the  water  of  a  certain  spring  is 
'*  reddish,"  and  "  very  like  blood ;  "  adding  that 
"  Perseus,  after  killing  the  sea-monster,  to  whom  the 
daughter  of  Cephus  was  exposed,  washed  away  the 
blood  there." 

There  are  in  the  Naples  Museum,  among  a  series 
of  frescoes  from  Pompeii,  scenes  from  the  exploits 
of  Perseus.  In  one  of  these,  Perseus  is  seen  refusing 
to  show  the  Gorgon's  head  to  Andromeda,  after  her 
deliverance.  He  finally  compromises,  and  satisfies 
her  justifiable  curiosity  by  holding  it  over  a  stream 
of  water,  and  letting  her  look  at  the  reflection. 

The  rescue  of  Andromeda  is  depicted  in  a  paint- 
ing by  Titian  in  the  Hermitage.  For  several  years 
it  was  catalogued  and  considered  to  be  by  Tintcn 
retto,  but  it  is  now  stated  to  be  by  Titian,  or  by  one 
of  his  pupils.  Andromeda  is  chained  to  the  rock, 
quite  nude;  Perseus,  making  a  mighty  onslaught 
upon  the  dragon,  is  armed  and  protected  by  the 
shield  with  the  Gorgon's  head  upon  it.  Andromeda 
is  an  example  of  the  type  usually  chosen  by  Titian, 
and  much  less  like  that  selected  by  Tintoretto. 

Piero  di  Cosimo,  a  decorative  painter  of  the 
Renaissance,  when  he  painted  the  legend  of  Perseus 
and  Andromeda,  executed  five  little  mediaeval  land- 


Perseus  223 

scapes,  with  figures  sprinkled  in  to  tell  his  story,  a 
very  magnificent  dragon  careering  among  them. 
The  landscapes  are  spoken  of  by  Symonds  as  "  made 
up  by  a  strange  amalgam  of  the  most  eccentric 
details;  rocks  toppling  over  blue  bays,  sea-caverns, 
and  fantastic  mountain  ranges."  Nevertheless,  there 
is  -not  another  Andromeda  in  art  who  is  so  appealing 
and  so  human ;  her  natural  action  in  turning  away, 
fainting  and  heartsick,  at  the  sight  of  the  brute, 
could  not  be  more  satisfactory.  Vasari  says  of  the 
dragon  in  the  Perseus  of  Piero  di  Cosimo,  "  a  more 
singular  and  fanciful  specimen  of  a  sea-monster 
could  not  easily  be  conceived  than  that  which  Piero 
has  here  imagined  and  depicted;  the  attitude  of 
Perseus  is  fierce  and  menacing,  as,  lifting  the  sword 
in  the  air,  he  is  preparing  to  destroy  the  monster. 
Andromeda  is  seen  bound,  and  trembling  between 
hope  and  despair;  her  countenance,  finely  express- 
ing those  emotions,  very  beautiful.  In  the  fore- 
ground are  numerous  figures,  clothed  in  strange 
habiliments,  and  singing  to  the  sound  of  various 
instruments;  some  of  the  heads  of  these  figures, 
smiling  in  joy  at  the  deliverance  of  Andromeda, 
are  divinely  beautiful;  the  landscape  also  is  very 
fine,  the  colouring  being  exceedingly  soft  and  grace- 
ful, every  tint  blended  with  the  most  perfect  har- 
mony." Undoubtedly  there  is  a  sweet  old-world 
charm  about  these  quaint,  stiff  pictures  of  Peiro's; 


224  Classic  flD\?tbs  in  Hrt 

there  is  still  left  in  them  the  thought  and  the  striv- 
ing for  intellectual  expression,  which  is  so  character- 
istic of  the  earlier  painters,  and,  alas !  so  lacking  in 
their  more  technically  skilful  successors. 

Of  course  Rubens  has  painted  Perseus  and  An- 
dromeda. There  is  no  story,  sacred  or  profane,  in 
which  nude  women  could  be  introduced,  which  has 
not  been  celebrated  by  a  picture  from  this  prolific 
hand.  The  painting  is  about  what  one  would  ex- 
pect. A  short,  fat,  pink  Dutchwoman,  bound  with 
clothes-line,  leans  in  a  distressed  manner  against 
a  rock ;  Perseus,  in  full  armour,  aided  by  two  Cupids, 
is  unfastening  the  cords  in  a  whirl  of  exertion;  the 
winged  Pegasus  stands  by,  rather  annoyed  that  two 
other  little  Cupids  are  trying  to  mount  his  back. 
The  dragon  in  the  distant  water  is  wallowing  out  his 
reptile  existence.  Taine  observes  that  Rubens  is  the 
only  artist  who  seems  to  have  comprehended  the 
"  fluid  softness  of  flesh,"  —  the  "  instantaneous." 
This  may  be  true;  but  some  of  us  prefer  a  firmer 
style  of  flesh  than  that.  Certainly  all  humanity  is 
not  of  jelly-fish  texture. 

The  terrible  dragon  slain,  Perseus  assists  An- 
dromeda to  freedom.  "  Released  from  her  chains, 
the  virgin  walks  along,  both  the  reward  and  the 
cause  of  his  labours." 

Among  the  earliest  examples  of  Perseus  and 
Andromeda  in  art  is  a  marble  relief  in  the  Capitoline 


Perseus 

Museum.  The  dragon  lies  slain  in  the  water,  an 
amazing  beast  —  a  cross  between  a  dolphin  and  a 
shark  —  and  Perseus,  one  arm  behind  him  in  an 
attitude  of  rest,  extends  his  right  hand  to  a  fully 
draped  Andromeda,  who  is  descending  from  the 
rock. 

There  is  a  Pompeian  painting  of  Perseus  leading 
Andromeda  down  from  the  rock,  which  is  full  of 
realism.  Andromeda  has  lifted  one  foot  to  take  a 
forward  step;  her  arm  is  extended,  and  Perseus 
places  his  hand  under  her  forearm,  giving  a  very 
natural  feeling  of  support.  The  figures  are  shapely 
and  muscular. 

Of  these  Pompeian  and  Herculaneum  paintings 
Doctor  Moore  remarks :  "  The  paintings  brought 
from  Herculaneum  are  perfect  proofs  that  the 
ancients  had  made  that  progress  in  art  which  those 
pictures  indicate;  but  do  not  form  even  a  presump- 
tion that  they  had  not  made  a  much  greater.  The 
same  school  which  formed  the  sculptor  to  correct- 
ness would  form  the  painter  to  equal  correctness 
in  his  drawings.  .  .  .  The  best  statues  are  correct  in 
their  proportions  .  .  .  these  paintings  are  not  cor- 
rect in  their  proportions." 

From  the  spilt  blood  of  Medusa  sprang  Pegasus, 
—  the  winged  steed  afterward  dear  to  the  Muses.  In 
many  of  the  pictures  of  Perseus  he  is  seen  riding 
on  this  trusty  poetic  charger. 


226  Classic  flDgtba  in  Hrt 

In  Rome,  in  the  gallery  of  the  Rospigliosi  Palace, 
is  the  picture  of  Andromeda  by  Guido  Reni,  where 
Perseus,  on  Pegasus,  is  seen  whirling  through  the 
air,  his  sword  brandished  nobly,  but  very  badly  ren- 
dered. The  "  strident  "  figure  of  Andromeda  in  this 
painting  is  inadequate  from  every  point  of  view. 
Taine  says,  quite  justly,  we  must  admit,  that  this 
figure  has  "  no  form  or  substance  ...  in  fact,  is  not 
a  living  existence,  but  only  a  combination  of  pleas- 
ing contours."  Guido  used  to  boast  that  he  had 
"  two  hundred  ways  of  making  the  eyes  look  up  to 
heaven."  This  picture  is  one  of  the  rare  instances 
where  a  heroine  of  Guide's  looks  down  instead  of 
up  —  intent  upon  the  monster  from  below  the  deep ! 

Coypel's  picture  in  the  Louvre  represents  the 
scene  in  a  tempestuous  and  brilliant  way.  Androm- 
eda, resting  in  a  comfortable  pose  on  her  rock,  is  in 
the  centre  of  a  wild  sea  of  waves.  She  lifts  one 
shackled  hand  toward  Perseus  with  the  air  of  an 
ennuyee  granting  a  favour.  Perseus  is  hurtling 
down  head  first  in  an  alarming  way  upon  the  beast, 
who  is  an  exotic  creation  composed  of  plate-armour, 
with  search-lights  for  eyes.  There  are  numerous 
sea-nymphs  disporting  in  the  billows,  who  all  show 
so  much  more  terror  at  Perseus  than  at  the  dragon, 
that  one  comprehends  that,  to  the  aquatic  mind,  a 
flying  man  was  more  to  be  dreaded  than  a  sea-ser- 
pent. On  the  shore  at  the  right,  on  rocks  by  a  battle- 


Perseus  227 

mented  citadel,  are  the  parents  of  Andromeda  (who, 
by  the  way,  were  a  king  and  queen),  in  accepted 
stage  attitudes  of  despair  and  supplication.  Cupid 
hovers  over  all  with  torch  and  bow,  ready  to  put  the 
finishing  touches. 

As  one  rehearses  the  numerous  Andromedas  in 
art,  one  is  more  and  more  struck  with  the  truthful 
simplicity  of  stiff  little  Piero  di  Cosimo  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MINOR    MYTHS 

FLORA  was  a  goddess  who  grew  up  in  Roman 
days ;  she  is  not  of  Greek  origin.  There  is  a  statue 
of  Greek  workmanship,  called  Flora;  but  Winckel- 
mann  says  that  this  was  intended  for  one  of  the 
Muses,  and  was  renamed  later. 

The  best  known  Flora  in  the  world  —  that  beauti- 
ful glowing  canvas  of  Titian,  with  the  smiling  face 
above  the  dark  rich  white  of  the  robe  —  is  the  Flora 
of  the  Uffizi.  So  satisfying  is  the  colour,  tone,  and 
form  of  this  picture  that  one  forgets  to  ask  whether 
the  woman  be  Roman  or  Venetian.  Titian  has  been 
true  to  the  tradition  of  the  goddess,  however,  in  one 
particular,  —  she  is  a  flower,  and  not  a  bud.  She 
is  no  coy  maiden,  unacquainted  with  the  world,  but 
a  fully  developed  woman,  who  has  tried  the  pleasures 
which  are  her  due,  and  is  offering  the  roses  which  she 
has  culled  to  others.  The  delicate  draperies,  of 

finely  creped  muslin,  contrast  well  with  the  deep 

228 


TITIAN.  —  FLORA 


/IMnor  /IDstbs  229 

damasks  in  tone  and  texture.  The  violet  tone,  such 
as  is  to  be  seen  in  this  picture,  is  peculiar  to  Titian. 

A  charming  idyll  of  the  woods  is  a  painting 
which  was  first  exhibited  in  the  Royal  Academy 
some  years  ago,  by  Henrietta  Rae,  entitled  Zephyrus 
wooing  Flora.  An  exquisitely  formed,  slender  girl, 
nude,  with  only  a  garland  of  flowers  about  her,  is 
seated  on  the  ground,  in  the  midst  of  all  kinds  of 
spring  verdure  and  roses,  while  a  youth,  light  of 
tread,  passing  airily  by,  half-walking,  half-flying, 
pauses  to  kiss  her  in  his  flight.  The  delicate  touch 
of  Zephyrus  is  portrayed  with  the  utmost  apprecia- 
tion. There  is  nothing  Greek  about  the  types;  in 
the  letter,  it  is  British ;  but  in  the  spirit,  classic. 

One  of  the  best-known  and  most  charming  Floras 
is  that  of  Botticelli  in  his  Allegory  of  Spring ;  with 
her  beautiful  flowery  gauzes,  and  her  quaint,  long- 
faced  smile,  she  is  like  an  old  friend  which  every 
one  recognizes,  stepping  along  in  her  stilted  jaunti- 
ness.  Usually  called  an  Allegory  of  Spring,  Botti- 
celli's delightful  silvery  tempera  painting  at  the 
Florentine  Academy  deals  with  classic  subjects  in  his 
usual  mediaeval  way.  The  picture  has  been  variously 
explained;  upon  the  whole,  the  most  generally 
accepted  interpretation  is,  that  the  central  figure, 
Venus,  is  a  portrait  study  of  one  of  the  Medici; 
people  in  high  life  were  often  painted  as  divinities; 
we  all  remember  Lady  Hamilton  as  "  Diana,"  and  a 


230  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

French  court  beauty  as  "  Hebe  "  ;  why  not  a  Medi- 
cean  favourite  as  "  Venus  "  ?  The  Graces  dance  be- 
fore her;  Mercury  is  there,  and  Cupid,  aiming  an 
arrow  at  the  three  contorted  and  wistful  Graces. 
The  North  Wind,  at  the  right,  is  flying  briskly 
about,  blowing  a  torrent  of  air  toward  the  figure 
which  represents  Spring:  the  wild  flowers  are  bub- 
bling forth  from  her  lips,  and  not  in  a  very 
artistic  way.  The  detail  of  the  fine  worker  and  the 
goldsmith  is  employed  in  this  painting.  The  people 
are  half  pagan,  with  mediaeval  church  consciences. 
Vernon  Lee  calls  them  "  goddesses  and  nymphs, 
whose  clinging  garments  the  gentle  Sandro  has 
assuredly  studied  from  some  old  statue  of  Faustina 
or  Agrippina;  but  what  strange,  livid  tints  are 
there  beneath  these  draperies;  what  eccentric  ges- 
tures are  those  of  the  nymphs ;  what  a  green,  ghost- 
like light  illumines  the  garden  of  Venus ! "  They 
are,  as  she  says,  "  incorporeal  daughters  of  dew  and 
gossamer  and  mist."  Highly  ornamental  and  decor- 
ative, the  Primavera  was  probably  a  votive  picture 
to  the  charms  of  this  particular  local  Venus;  as 
W.  J.  Stillman  suggests :  "  Mercury  indicates  com- 
mercial prosperity;  Cupid,  her  fascination;  the 
Graces,  her  personal  charms;  the  Spring  group, 
the  awakening  life  and  Renaissance  of  the  regime; 
the  orchard,  the  prosperity  of  the  realm,"  etc.  The 
general  form  of  the  composition  is  pyramidal,-* 


flDinor  flDstbs  23* 


Cupid  considered  as  an  apex  in  the  triangle,  the  lines 
fall  off  slightly  below  on  each  side.  The  picture  is 
generally  conceded  to  have  been  inspired  by  a  pas- 
sage of  Lucretius  in  "  De  Rerum  Natura."  I  quote 
from  Busby's  translation  : 

"Lo!    Spring  advances  with  her  kindling  powers, 
And  Venus  beckons  to  the  laughing  hours; 
Fly  the  winged  zephyrs  forth,  and  all  things  move 
The  earth  to  beauty,  and  the  soul  to  love  : 
Maternal   Flora  wakes  her  opening  buds, 
With  sweetest  odours  fills  the  groves  and  woods 
With  flowers  of  richest  dyes  prepares  the  way 
For  rosy  Pleasure  and  the  genial  May." 

The  picture  is  "  exquisitely  poetic,"  as  Symonds 
observes,  "  and  yet  the  true  spirit  of  the  Latin  verse 
has  not  been  seized,  but  something  special  to  the 
artist,  and  significant  to  the  Medici,  has  been  added. 
There  is  none  of  the  Roman  largeness  and  freedom 
in  its  style.  Venus  and  her  Graces  are  even  some- 
what melancholy,  and  their  movements  savour  of 
affectation." 

The  Three  Graces  were  originally  known  as  the 
Charites.  The  grace  for  which  they  stood  was  a 
mental  and  spiritual  grace,  which  later  came  to 
signify  beauty  of  body.  This  may  be  said  to  be 
something  of  a  degeneration  in  the  myth.  They 
are  associated  with  the  Fates.  They  were  at  first 


232  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

represented,  like  Venus,  entirely  draped,  as  in  an 
early  bas-relief  in  the  Vatican ;  but  by  degrees  they, 
too,  were  despoiled  of  their  draperies,  and  perfection 
of  limb  superseded  purity  of  intention,  while  beauty 
of  face  predominated  over  kindness  of  heart.  One 
of  the  most  beautiful  representations  of  the  Graces, 
after  their  emancipation  from  clothes,  is  a  marble 
group  in  Siena,  which  is  reported  to  have  served 
Raphael  as  a  model  and  inspiration  while  he  worked 
in  that  city. 

The  Three  Graces  of  Bonifazio  Bembo,  in  Turin, 
is  a  gracefully  disposed  group  of  figures.  The  nude 
girls  have  little  of  the  feminine  in  their  proportions ; 
the  general  outlines  of  their  bodies  are  more  like 
those  of  youths.  Two  of  the  heads  are  rather  ex- 
pressionless, and  far  from  beautiful,  but  the  head 
of  the  Grace  at  the  right,  turned  in  profile,  is  ex- 
tremely effective. 

Taine  gives  such  an  exquisite  description  of  the 
fresco  of  Tintoretto  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  repre- 
senting the  Three  Graces,  that  it  is  a  temptation  to 
quote  it  entire;  at  any  rate,  an  extract  from  these 
interesting  criticisms  will  be  welcome.  Taine  says : 
"  All  three  are  deflected :  with  Tintoretto  a  body 
is  not  a  living  one  when  its  posture  is  passive.  .  .  . 
One  of  them,  seated,  extends  her  arms,  and  the 
light  that  falls  on  her  flank  makes  portions  of  her 
face,  neck,  and  bosom  glow  against  the  vague  pur- 


ANTIQUE    MARBLE. — THE    THREE    GRACES. 


/BMnor  flDstbs  233 


pie  of  the  shadow.  Her  sister,  kneeling,  with  down- 
cast eyes,  takes  her  hand;  a  long  gauze,  fine,  like 
those  silvery  webs  of  the  fields  brightened  by  the 
morning  dawn,  clings  around  the  waist  and  expands 
over  the  bosom  whose  blush  it  allows  to  appear.  In 
the  other  hand  she  holds  a  blooming  bunch  of 
flowers,  ascending  upward,  and  resting  their  snowy 
purity  on  the  ruddy  whiteness  of  the  ample  arms. 
The  third,  tortuous,  displays  herself  in  full,  and 
from  neck  to  heel  the  eye  follows  the  embracing  of 
the  muscles  covering  the  superb  framework  of  the 
spine  and  hips." 

There  is  a  picture  in  the  Villa  Borghese  by  Titian, 
which  is  officially  called  the  Three  Graces,  but  some- 
times goes  by  the  name  of  the  Arming  of  Cupid. 
In  either  case,  the  Graces  are  carrying  out  this 
good  work.  One  is  occupied  in  tying  a  bandage 
about  the  eyes  of  the  willing  little  victim,  a  second 
"  Amor  "  is  leaning  on  her  shoulder,  giving  her  some 
whispered  hints,  which  she  pauses  to  hear.  Another 
of  the  Graces  has  the  quiver,  well  filled,  which  she 
is  ready  to  present  to  Cupid,  while  the  third,  stand- 
ing, offers  the  bow.  The  figures  are  seen  in  half- 
length.  The  glowing  colouring  and  soft  modelling 
constitute  the  most  marked  charms  of  the  picture. 

In  the  Uffizi  is  a  group  of  the  Three  Graces  by 
Rubens.  These  nude  women  have  not  as  much 
superfluous  flesh  as  is  usual  in  Rubens's  ideals  ;  they 


234  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

are  rather  graceful  as  they  stand  in  statuesque  poses, 
and  the  fact  that  the  work  on  them  is  rough  and 
sketchy  adds  a  charm  which  we  often  miss  in  the 
overblown  smooth  pinkness  of  Rubens's  flesh. 

Palma  Vecchio  painted  a  picture  usually  called 
the  Three  Sisters,  sometimes  alluded  to  as  Three 
Graces.  They  are  simply  grandly  tricked  out  Vene- 
tian gentlewomen,  handsome  and  disdainful,  in  no 
wise  suggesting  a  classic  theme. 

The  Graces  of  Raphael,  in  the  Farnesina  frescoes 
(which,  as  a  connected  whole,  form  the  story  of 
Cupid  and  Psyche),  are  finely  modelled  women  on 
the  order  of  the  Galatea.  While  they  are  nude,  they 
are  so  arranged  as  to  form  a  perfectly  modest  and 
very  harmonious  group.  They  occupy  a  triangular 
space  on  a  spandrel.  One  of  them  sits  with  her 
back  toward  the  spectator,  her  lower  limbs  extending 
down  into  the  point  of  the  triangle ;  one  is  seated  so 
that  her  figure  balances  the  one  just  alluded  to  (and 
that  of  Cupid  on  the  left),  and  the  other,  seen  only 
to  the  waist,  fills  the  space  left  at  the  broad  top  of 
the  composition. 

An  attendant  of  Juno  in  heaven  is  Iris,  goddess 
of  the  rainbow.  The  most  familiar  picture  of  Iris 
is  that  by  Guido  Head,  in  the  Gallerie  san  Luca  in 
Rome.  The  figure  flies  through  the  air,  with  a  full 
scarf  of  drapery  bowing  out  behind  her,  and  holds 
above  her  head  a  small  jug-shaped  vase  with  a  single 


/IMnor  flDstbs  235 

handle.  The  picture  lacks  force,  but  is  a  favourite 
for  popular  reproduction.  The  rainbow  is  seen 
crossing  the  background. 

Hebe  and  Ganymede,  the  cup-bearers  to  the  gods, 
are  minor  divinities  in  Olympus,  who  appear  con- 
stantly in  the  heavenly  gatherings,  and  yet  are  not 
frequently  seen  alone  as  subjects  for  the  painter. 
Hebe  was  a  daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Juno;  she  is 
reported  to  have  resigned  her  office  as  attendant 
on  her  parents  to  become  the  wife  of  Hercules. 
Crawford's  marble  group  in  the  Boston  Art  Mu- 
seum represents  Hebe  reluctantly  giving  the  cup  to 
Ganymede,  while  he  looks  upon  her  with  sympathy 
as  he  takes  it. 

Hebe  occurs  seldom  in  art.  Ancient  statues  of 
her  are  not  numerous.  One  bas-relief  represents 
her  on  her  knees,  in  the  attitude  of  supplicating,  hav- 
ing been  superseded  as  cupbearer  by  Ganymede. 
As  a  rule  her  dress  is  tucked  up  away  from  her 
feet,  so  that  she  may  be  unhampered  by  draperies 
in  the  performance  of  her  duties. 

Canova's  Hebe  is  rather  familiar  to  most  of  us; 
it  is  a  marble  statue,  nude  to  the  waist,  young  — 
delicate  —  the  head  refined  and  elegant  —  one  hand 
high  above  her  head  holding  a  small  vase,  quite  in- 
adequate to  the  demands  of  her  calling,  unless  it  be 
understood  to  be  constantly  replenished  by  miracle. 
In  her  other  hand  she  holds  a  cup. 


236  Classic  flD$tbs  in  Hrt 

A  rather  graceful  but  affected  piece  of  work  is 
the  Hebe  of  Pellegrino,  in  the  Gallerie  san  Luca 
in  Rome.  Hebe,  half-sitting,  half-reclining  on  a 
couch,  holds  aloft  in  both  hands  a  cup  of  exquisite 
design,  from  which  an  eagle  drinks.  The  bird  in  this 
case  represents  Jupiter  in  one  of  his  many  disguises. 
Pellegrino  signifies  "  the  rare  "  —  "  the  extraordi- 
nary." While  this  title  seems  hardly  justified  by 
the  results  of  Pellegrino's  labour,  yet,  comparing 
him  with  other  painters  of  his  school,  —  that  of 
Fruili,  —  it  is  not  remarkable  that  he  was  so  con- 
sidered. 

Ganymede,  the  beautiful  Trojan  boy  whom  Jupi- 
ter carried  off  to  succeed  Hebe  in  heaven,  is  more 
frequently  represented  in  art  than  his  predecessor. 
Even  in  helping  himself  to  his  servants,  Jupiter 
considered  it  necessary  to  assume  a  disguise,  —  in 
the  case  in  point,  he  descended  upon  Ganymede  in 
the  form  of  an  eagle.  "  Yet  into  no  bird  does  he 
vouchsafe  to  be  transformed,  but  that  which  can 
carry  his  bolts  .  .  .  striking  the  air  with  his  ficti- 
tious wings,"  continues  Ovid,  "  he  carries  off  the 
youth  .  .  .  who  even  now  mingles  his  cups  for 
him." 

The  antique  statue  of  Ganymede  and  the  eagle,  in 
the  museum  in  Naples,  is  a  charming  boy's  figure. 
He  stands  with  his  arm  around  the  shoulders  of  the 
bird  of  Jove,  which  looks  into  his  face.  Ganymede 


PELLEGRINO.  —  HEBE. 


rtMnor  jflD^tbs  237 


wears  a  little  shepherd's  cap,  and  has  luxuriant 
curls.  This  is  not  a  work  of  the  best  period  of 
Greek  art,  but  is  very  pleasing. 

The  Ganymede  of  Leochares  is  another  famous 
group,  in  which  the  eagle  is  seen  soaring  aloft,  with 
the  youth  held  just  below  the  shoulders,  as  he  is 
being  lifted  from  the  ground,  one  arm  raised,  and  an 
expression  of  fear  on  his  face.  His  dog  sits  barking 
at  the  side,  —  a  naturalistic  touch  which  Correggio 
afterward  adopted  for  his  Ganymede  in  Vienna. 
In  this  beautiful  picture  the  rampant  bird  has 
grasped  the  boy  by  his  scarf  and  his  shoulder,  and 
the  graceful  little  figure  droops  below,  one  arm 
about  the  eagle's  neck,  and  his  face  turned  with 
wistful  gaze  toward  the  spectator.  The  little  dog, 
on  the  ground  below,  whose  back  is  seen,  is  objecting 
strenuously.  The  eagle  and  the  boy  in  this  picture 
are  flying  in  a  most  convincing  way,  far  above  the 
earth.  The  arrangements  of  foreshortening  and 
perspective  are  most  beautiful,  and  in  Correggio's 
best  vein. 

Rembrandt  has  burlesqued  this  incident  in  his 
famous  caricature  in  Dresden,  where  he  represents 
Ganymede  as  a  howling  infant,  being  borne  off 
against  his  will  by  the  eagle. 

A  Ganymede  seated  on  the  back  of  the  eagle,  and 
thus  being  carried  off  actually  riding,  is  the  con- 
ception of  the  subject  as  treated  by  the  sculptor 


238  Classic  fl&stbs  fn  Hrt 

Bartholomew.  The  figure  is  charmingly  graceful, 
and  the  composition  agreeable.  The  boy,  however, 
is  holding  by  the  edge  of  the  eagle's  wing  —  a  mani- 
fest impossibility  during  flight! 

Michelangelo's  Ganymede  has  been  copied  twice, 
—  once  in  miniature,  by  Giulio  Clovio,  and  once  in 
oils  for  the  palace  at  South  Kensington. 

A  Ganymede  by  an  unknown  artist,  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery  in  London,  is  given  by  J.  B.  Stough- 
ton  to  Tintoretto.  It  was  probably  painted  for  a  ceil- 
ing, but  can  be  better  appreciated  as  it  is  now  hung. 

Above  the  fresco  of  Polyphemus  hurling  the  rock 
at  Acis,  Caracci  has  painted  the  Rape  of  Ganymede. 
The  arrangement  is  quite  usual,  the  eagle  bearing 
the  boy  in  his  talons,  one  arm  of  Ganymede  about  the 
neck  of  the  bird,  while  both  have  equal  appearance  of 
flying. 

In  Dresden  is  a  Ganymede  attributed  to  Parmigi- 
ano,  which  Morelli  gives  to  Dosso  Dossi. 

The  story  of  the  Calydonian  Hunt,  given  by  Ovid, 
is  one  of  the  most  dramatic  scenes  in  Greek  mythol- 
ogy. It  is  as  picturesque  as  that  of  Perseus  and 
Andromeda.  A  terrible  boar  of  supernatural  pro- 
portions and  powers,  one  of  Diana's  inflictions  upon 
a  people  from  whom  she  did  not  receive  what  she 
deemed  sufficient  homage,  was  laying  waste  the 
fields  of  Calydon,  and  he  was  finally  put  to  death 
by  the  young  Meleager,  who,  by  this  act  of  prowess, 


239 

won  for  his  bride  the  fair  Atalanta.  This  is  Ovid's 
account  of  the  adventure.  Describing  the  beast,  he 
says :  "  His  eyes  shine  with  blood  and  flames,  his 
rough  neck  is  stiff,  bristles,  too,  stand  up  like  spikes, 
thickly  set;  like  palisades  do  those  bristles  project, 
just  like  high  spikes."  The  youths  who  go  out  to 
kill  him  are  described  by  name,  the  pedigree  of  each 
being  given  in  the  conscientious  way  habitual  with 
Ovid,  ending  up  with  Atalanta,  "  the  glory  of  the 
Lycian  groves."  Ovid  says  that  her  dress  and  bear- 
ing was  such  as  would  suggest  a  boy,  if  one  con- 
sidered her  as  a  maid,  while  she  was  too  feminine  in 
her  loveliness  to  be  a  boy.  The  young  hero  Mele- 
ager  fell  in  love  at  first  sight.  When  Meleager 
killed  the  boar,  as,  of  course,  was  his  destiny,  he  laid 
the  hideous  but  gratifying  trophy  at  the  feet  of  the 
maiden,  who  accepted  it ;  "  the  giver  of  the  present, 
as  well  as  the  present,  are  a  source  of  pleasure  to 
her." 

In  Pompeii  there  was  found  a  charming  fresco 
of  Atalanta  and  Meleager,  which  is  now  in  Naples. 
Meleager,  with  two  hounds,  holding  his  spear,  is 
seated,  with  the  dead  boar  on  the  ground  near  by. 
Atalanta  accepts  the  offering,  her  figure  delightfully 
drawn.  There  are  two  youths  standing  near,  and 
the  statue  of  Diana  is  seen  behind  Meleager. 

Meleager  bringing  the  boar's  head  to  Atalanta  has 
been  painted  by  Rubens  in  his  customary  manner. 


240  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

Two  brawny  Flanders  peasants  are  looking  into  one 
another's  eyes  —  the  man  lovingly,  as  he  under- 
stands love,  and  the  woman  simperingly,  with  her 
stupid  big  eyes  and  her  receding  chin.  Meleager 
presents  the  dripping  boar's  head  to  Atalanta,  who 
expresses  her  joy  at  the  delicate  tribute  by  placing 
her  hand  on  her  heart.  The  dead  body  of  the  boar 
lies  on  the  ground,  and  the  dogs  sniff  about,  while 
a  Cupid,  who  is  so  stiff  with  fat  that  one  marvels  to 
see  him  able  to  get  about,  assists  at  the  presentation. 

There  is  a  statue  in  the  Vatican  of  Meleager  with 
the  boar's  head  by  him.  The  head  of  this  Meleager 
has  a  square  shape,  not  unlike  that  of  Napoleon ;  the 
expression  of  the  face  is  that  of  an  obstinate,  deter- 
mined man,  full  of  vigour,  a  hunter-warrior,  not 
intellectual,  but  entirely  beautiful  in  the  physical 
sense.  The  torso  is  magnificent,  the  neck  powerful, 
and  the  thigh  and  ankle  as  much  an  indication  of 
his  characteristics  as  the  head. 

The  Fates  sometimes  appear  in  scenes  of  the 
Death  of  Meleager.;  in  Rubens's  picture  a  hag  is 
seen  in  the  clouds,  but  she  suggests  a  Fury  much 
more  than  a  Fate,  and  is  probably  the  departing 
spirit  of  the  boar  which  has  been  slain.  In  alluding 
to  the  Furies  Pausanias  says :  "  ^schylus  first 
represented  them  with  snakes  twined  in  their  hair; 
but  in  the  statues  here,  either  of  them  or  any  other 
of  the  infernal  gods,  there  is  nothing  horrible." 


flDinor  flD$tbs  241 


In  the  Prado  is  a  picture  by  Poussin,  representing 
Atalanta  heading  the  boar-hunt.  The  landscape  is 
effective,  showing  statues  of  Pan  and  Diana. 

There  seem  to  have  been  shrines  with  relics  even 
in  classic  times  ;  according  to  Pausanias,  Meleager's 
spear  which  killed  the  Calydonian  Boar  was  kept 
in  the  Temple  of  Persuasion,  in  Corinth.  "  Here, 
too,"  adds  Pausanias,  "  are  deposited  the  flutes  of 
Marsyas."  The  hide  of  the  Calydonian  Boar  itself 
was  also  reported  by  him  as  being  enshrined  in  a 
temple  in  Tegea;  he  describes  it  attractively  as 
"  rotten  with  lapse  of  time,  and  nearly  devoid  of 
hair." 

There  was  another  maiden  named  Atalanta,  who 
won  fame  for  herself  as  well  as  did  the  Calydonian 
huntress.  This  Atalanta  was  also  a  sporting  damsel. 
She  was  a  great  athlete,  and,  among  other  things, 
celebrated  for  her  speed  in  running.  An  oracle  had 
once  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  tell  this  lovely  maiden 
that  marriage  would  be  fatal  to  her  happiness. 
Therefore  Atalanta  would  see  nothing  of  the  youths 
who  came  to  woo.  Finally  she  consented  to  marry 
such  a  man  as  should  conquer  her  in  a  race,  but  the 
understanding  was  that,  if  she  won  the  race,  the  man 
was  to  die.  Hippomenes,  the  son  of  Neptune,  fell  in 
love  with  the  damsel,  and  consented  to  the  terms. 
But  before  he  entered  the  race,  Venus  gave  him 
three  golden  apples,  and,  herself  invisible  to  the  con- 


242  Classic  jflD£tbs  in  art 

course  of  people,  whispered  to  Hippomenes  how  to 
use  them  in  the  contest. 

"They  both  started,  —  he  by  one  stride  first, 
For  she  half-pitied  him,  so  beautiful, 
Running  to  meet  his  death;   yet  was  resolved 
To  conquer." 

Thus  has  Walter  Savage  Landor  drawn  in  a  few 
expressive  words  the  scene  of  this  start.  But  as 
Atalanta  was  overtaking  him,  Hippomenes,  true  to 
the  instructions  of  Venus, 

"  From  his  hand  now  dropped 
A  golden  Apple;    she  looked  down  and  saw 
A  glitter  on  the  grass,  yet  on  she  ran. 
He  dropped  a  second;   now  she  seemed  to  stoop; 
He  dropped  a  third,  and  now  she  stooped  indeed, 
Yet  swifter  than  a  wren  picks  up  a  grain 
Of  millet,  raised  her  head;    it  was  too  late  — 
Hippomenes  had  touched  the  maple  goal." 

i 

Thus  was  Atalanta  won,  through  her  feminine 
curiosity  in  not  being  able  to  pass  an  object  which 
she  could  not  understand! 

This  scene  is  made  familiar  by  the  charming 
painting  by  Poynter.  The  spectators  are  gathered 
along  the  course,  —  the  steps  of  the  temple  are 
crowded,  and  a  little  theatre  is  seen  beyond.  All 
eyes  turn  to  the  two  figures  in  the  open  space  on  the 
race-track.  Hippomenes,  a  stalwart  youth,  is  speed- 


flMnor  flDstbs  243 


ing  forward,  in  splendid  action  and  poise,  while 
Atalanta,  her  draperies  all  whirling  with  the  sudden 
reversal,  has  stooped,  turning  back  to  pick  up  the 
apple.  The  foreshortening  of  this  exquisite  girl's 
figure  is  one  of  the  technical  triumphs  of  modern 
art. 

A  less  well-known  rendering  of  the  scene  is  by 
Guido  Reni,  in  a  picture  in  the  Naples  Museum.  In 
this,  the  background  is  so  dark  that  one  loses 
thought  of  the  multitude.  The  two  figures  are  alone, 
and  occupy  the  whole  canvas.  The  incident  is  the 
same  as  that  selected  by  Poynter,  —  Atalanta  stoops 
to  reach  the  apple,  and  in  that  instant  Hippomenes 
darts  by,  and  wins  the  race.  A  spirited  scene,  in 
both  cases  :  there  is  more  thought  in  the  painting 
by  Poynter,  but  Guido  Reni,  too,  has  put  much  skill, 
action,  and  beauty,  into  his  figures,  although  the  fly- 
ing scarfs  with  which  they  are  draped  are  the  very 
last  sort  of  handicap  which  Greeks  would  have 
permitted  in  a  contest  of  speed! 

Among  earthly  heroes  who  tried  to  rival  the 
powers  of  the  gods  was  Daedalus,  architect  and 
sculptor  in  the  reign  of  Theseus.  He  tried  to  fly 
with  wings  of  his  own  manufacture,  and  he  and  his 
son,  who  were  imprisoned  in  a  labyrinth  which 
Daedalus  himself  had  constructed,  determined  to 
make  their  escape  in  this  manner.  In  the  Villa 
Albani  in  Rome  is  a  bas-relief  showing  Daedalus  at 


244 

work  at  a  bench,  while  Icarus  stands  by,  with  one 
wing  held  ready  to  be  adjusted,  and  the  other  behind 
him.  Systematically  did  the  father  go  to  work 
upon  the  wings.  One  could  almost  construct  such 
a  pair  from  Ovid's  description  of  their  manufacture : 
"  He  arranges  the  feathers  in  order,  beginning  from 
the  least,  the  shorter  ones  succeeding  the  longer, 
so  that  you  might  suppose  they  grew  on  an  incline. 
Thus  does  the  rustic  pipe  sometimes  rise  by  degrees, 
with  unequal  straws.  Then  he  binds  those  ...  in 
the  middle  with  thread,  and  the  lowermost  ones  with 
wax,  and  thus  ranged,  with  a  gentle  curvature,  he 
bends  them  so  as  to  imitate  the  real  wings  of 
birds." 

There  is  a  delightful  modern  painting  by  Vien, 
representing  the  episode  of  fastening  the  wings  to 
the  shoulders  of  Icarus.  The  eager  boy,  pointing  to 
the  distant  sky,  holds  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  feathers 
from  which  his  father,  standing  behind  him,  is 
selecting  a  few  to  make  some  finishing  touches.  The 
pan  of  melted  wax  is  on  the  ground.  The  figure  of 
the  boy  is  excellently  modelled. 

But  the  most  interesting  conception  of  this  scene 
is  a  sculptured  group  by  Canova  in  the  Venice 
Academy.  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  that  Canova 
ever  did,  both  in  its  modelling  and  in  its  appreciative 
delineation  of  character.  For  Daedalus,  intent  on 
this  success,  is  working  eagerly,  strapping  the  first 


CANOVA DAEDALUS   AND   ICARUS. 


flDfnor  /iDstbs  245 

section  of  the  wing  on  the  back  of  the  youth's  arm ; 
he  holds  it  in  place  with  one  hand,  while  with  the 
other  he  pulls  the  string  with  which  it  is  being 
fastened.  The  boy's  expression  of  pleasurable 
anticipation  and  importance,  mixed  with  a  little 
timidity,  is  well  portrayed.  He  holds  his  head  back, 
and  looks  down  at  his  shoulder,  holding  his  arm  stiff 
and  firm  so  that  the  work  may  proceed  satisfactorily. 
When  all  is  made  ready,  the  father  gives  his  advice : 

" '  My  Icarus,'    he  says,  '  I  warn  thee,  fly 
Along  the  middle  track,  nor  low,  nor  high; 
If  low,  thy  plumes  may  flag  with  ocean's  spray; 
If  high,  the  sun  may  dart  his  fiery  ray.' " 

—  OVID. 

For  awhile  the  boy  obeyed,  and  flew  smoothly 
through  the  ether;  but  by  degrees  his  impetuous 
youth  and  careless  enjoyment  made  him  incautious ; 
flying  too  near  the  sun,  the  tragic  fate  overtook  him. 
He  fell  into  the  river  and  was  drowned.  As  Ovid 
tells  it :  "  The  wax  was  melted :  he  shook  his  naked 
arms,  and,  wanting  his  oar-like  wings,  he  caught 
no  more  air."  Darwin  has  sung  a  dirge  upon  this 
theme : 

"With  melting  wax  and  loosened  strings 
Sunk  hapless  Icarus  on  unfaithful  wings: 
Headlong  he  rushes  thro'  the  affrighted  air 
With  limbs  distorted  and  dishevelled  hair; 
His  scattered  plumage  danced  upon  the  wave, 
And  sorrowing  Nereids  decked  his  watery  grave." 


246  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 

An  exquisite  painting  of  a  decorative  character  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  Tate  Gallery,  in  London.  It  is 
entitled  "  The  Lament  for  Icarus,"  by  Herbert  J. 
Draper.  Icarus,  fallen,  prone,  on  a  rocky  shore,  his 
great  wings  spread  on  either  side  of  him,  lies  with 
his  head  turned  on  one  side,  while  the  sea-maidens 
cluster  about,  trying  to  aid  him.  The  perfectly  limp 
droop  of  the  figure  and  the  useless  abundance  of  the 
richly  feathered  wings  suggest  a  whole  sermon  on 
misapplied  energy.  The  lights  are  soft  and  mellow, 
and  the  whole  picture  is  a  poem. 

In  the  Palazzo  del  Te,  Daedalus,  by  Giulio  Ro- 
mano, is  represented  as  instructing  Icarus  how  to 
fly;  in  another  picture  Icarus  is  seen  about  to  fall; 
as  the  painting  is  on  the  ceiling  above,  the  illusion 
is  quite  painful.  The  face  of  the  boy  shows  agony 
of  dread,  and  the  sun's  power  is  made  visible  in  the 
seared  wax  on  the  drooping  wings. 

The  historical  basis  for  the  legend  of  Icarus  is, 
probably,  that  Daedalus  invented  sails,  and,  as  Pau- 
sanias  tells  us,  he  and  his  son  escaped  from  prison 
by  sailboats;  "  Icarus  steering  his  boat  rather  awk- 
wardly, it  upset,  they  say,  and  he  was  drowned." 

"  All  the  works  of  Daedalus,"  says  Pausanias, 
"  are  somewhat  odd  to  look  at ;  but  there  is  a  won- 
derful inspiration  about  them."  He  describes  a 
statue  in  wood,  representing  Hercules.  Several 
wooden  statues  of  the  gods  were  built  by  Daedalus. 


flMnor  flDptbs  «47 


Jason,  one  of  the  youths  in  the  Calydonian  Hunt, 
was  afterward  famous  for  administering  an  opiate 
to  the  huge  dragon  who  guarded  the  Golden  Fleece, 
and  afterward  slaying  the  creature. 

Salvator  Rosa's  drawing  for  Jason  killing  the 
dragon  proves  to  us,  just  as  his  "  Temptation  of  St. 
Jerome  "  in  the  Pitti  Palace  proves,  that  Rosa  knew 
the  great  and  original  Jabberwock.  Here  is  Jason 
in  its  coils;  undoubtedly  Teniel  came  here  for 
inspiration  when  he  was  illustrating  "  Alice  Through 
the  Looking-glass." 

Turner's  Jason,  in  the  Liber  Studiorum,  has,  as 
Ruskin  says,  "  not  a  bit  of  Greek  about  him.  He  is 
a  simple  warrior  of  no  period  in  particular;  nay, 
I  think  there  is  something  of  the  nineteenth  century 
about  his  legs."  Turner  is  always  cramped  when 
local  colour  of  a  classical  kind  is  demanded.  Ruskin 
feels  that  the  restrained  quality  in  this  picture  is, 
however,  intellectual.  The  tree-trunks  are  trans- 
formed into  dragons,  but  there  are  "  no  more  claws 
nor  teeth  nor  manes  nor  stinging  tails  ;  we  have  the 
dragon,  like  everything  else,  by  the  middle.  We 
need  see  no  more  of  him.  All  his  horror  is  in  that 
fearful  slow  grinding  upheaval  of  the  single  coil." 
About  the  warrior,  too,  there  is  little  flourish  ;  "  no 
flaunting  plumes,  nor  brandished  lances,  but  stern 
purpose  in  the  turn  of  the  crestless  helmet,  visible 
victory  in  the  drawing  back  of  the  prepared  right 


248  Classic  flDstbs  in  Hrt 


arm  behind  the  steady  point."  One  should  observe 
the  light  tree-trunk  to  the  left  of  this  picture,  for 
it  gives  depth  to  the  gloom  which  spreads  over  the 
rest  of  the  scene. 

Perhaps  the  Laocoon  is  the  most  expressive  group 
of  sculpture  among  the  antique;  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds points  out  that  the  expression  is  not  complex 
—  that  it  is  only  the  expression  of  pain.  The  statue 
is  executed  entirely  with  the  chisel,  even  to  the 
finishing  strokes;  but  it  has  been  said  by  some 
critics  that  it  was  first  finished  with  a  rasp  or  file, 
and  the  chisel  marks  added  afterward  to  give  the 
impression  of  facility  and  roughness  combined. 
Whether  the  Greeks  were  capable  of  such  duplicity 
we  will  leave  it  to  connoisseurs  to  determine. 

The  German  editor  of  Winckelmann  says  of  the 
Laocoon,  "  It  is  a  miracle,  the  sum  and  abstract  of 
all  art." 

Two  characteristics  meet  in  the  Laocoon;  the 
majesty  of  endurance,  uttering  no  cry,  is  reminiscent 
of  the  ancient  formal  ideal  of  the  Greeks;  the 
terrible  subject,  the  realism  of  the  composition,  and 
the  evidences  of  suffering  in  the  sons,  suggest  the 
later  standards  of  art.  It  is  a  link  between  the  old 
and  the  new  conceptions  of  representation. 

The  right  leg  of  the  elder  son  is  considered  to  be 
one  of  the  finest  bits  of  modelling  in  ancient  art. 
Baccio  Bandinelli  being  employed  to  restore  the  right 


flMnor  flDptbs  249 


arm  of  the  Laocoon,  he  made  a  model  in  wax  of  the 
same,  by  which  a  good  result  was  obtained,  and  the 
restoration  was  considered  satisfactory.  Bandinelli 
then  devoted  himself  to  making  a  Laocoon  of  his 
own  design,  his  study  of  the  antique  group  having 
inspired  him  with  a  desire  to  try  and  compete  with 
it.  The  statue  was  completed  in  about  two  years, 
and,  in  1525,  it  was  in  the  Medici  Palace.  It  is  now 
in  the  Uffizi. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

HEROES    OF    THE    TROJAN    WAR 

THE  Judgment  of  Paris  has  always  been  a  fa- 
vourite and  responsive  subject  for  artists.  The  scene 
is  highly  pictorial  in  its  possibilities.  The  Apple  of 
Discord,  thrown  at  a  feast,  and  inscribed  "  To  the 
Fairest,"  is  claimed  by  Venus,  Juno,  and  (strange 
to  say)  Minerva.  The  blue-stocking  goddess  has, 
after  all,  a  human  longing  for  admiration.  After 
some  debate,  the  young  shepherd  lad,  Paris,  is  made 
arbiter,  and  he,  of  course,  pronounces  in  favour  of 
Venus.  Ever  after,  as  we  know,  to  his  temporal  joy, 
but  also  to  his  moral  cost,  he  is  under  the  patronage 
and  protection  of  Aphrodite. 

In  the  National  Gallery  in  London  is  Rubens's 
famous  Judgment  of  Paris.  The  languishing  shep- 
herd is  seated  at  the  right,  with  his  eyes  riveted 
upon  the  central  figure  of  the  group  of  goddesses 
before  him.  These  are  distinguished  chiefly  by  their 
well-known  attributes;  Minerva  is  standing  with 

250 


VAN  DER  WERFF. — JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS. 


t>eroes  of  tbe  Urojan  mciat         251 

her  arms  above  her  head,  a  shield  and  helmet  on 
the  ground  beside  her;  Juno  is  accompanied  by  her 
peacock,  which  is  screeching  at  Paris's  dog. 

The  Judgment  of  Paris  by  Luca  Giordano,  in  the 
Hermitage,  represents  Paris  leaning  his  left  arm 
carelessly  against  the  rock  by  which  he  is  seated, 
holding  the  apple  in  his  hand.  Juno  is  removing 
the  sandal  from  her  left  foot;  Minerva,  also  seated, 
is  discarding  her  last  garment.  Venus,  in  quiet 
assurance,  is  looking  at  Paris.  A  little  Cupid 
attends  her,  while  in  the  air  above  hover  two  doves. 
Mercury  is  seen  behind  the  others.  There  is  a  replica 
of  this  picture  in  Berlin,  painted  in  1768. 

A  refined,  pleasing  Judgment  of  Paris,  in  Dresden, 
is  painted  by  Adriaen  van  der  Werff,  early  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  Paris,  seated  in  the  cool  shade, 
under  a  thick  tree,  has  just  presented  the  apple  to 
Venus,  who  stands,  in  good  contrast  to  Paris,  in  the 
full  sunlight,  with  Cupid  by  her  side.  She  is  entirely 
nude,  but  drawn  with  delicate  feeling,  and  her  figure 
is  well  proportioned,  slight,  and  graceful.  Juno 
and  Minerva,  clothed,  the  latter  in  helmet  and 
cuirass,  are  turning  their  backs  upon  Paris  and 
Venus,  talking  together,  —  consoling  each  other,  — 
really  very  much  as  they  would  have  been  liable  to 
do  under  the  circumstances,  cheering  each  other 
with  excuses  and  explanations,  and  quoting  reasons 
why  the  youth  was  deluded  into  such  error  of  judg- 


Classic  flDgtbs  in  Hrt 

ment.  Mercury,  in  deep  shadow,  is  coming  up  from 
a  declivity  in  the  background  to  hear  the  decision. 
The  picture  is  somewhat  fanciful,  and  so  is  the  story; 
it  is  ideal,  and  so  is  the  situation.  On  the  whole, 
it  is  much  more  satisfactory  than  most  treatments 
of  the  theme.  Morelli  sums  up  the  characteristics 
of  Van  der  Werff :  "  A  dazzling,  glaring  ultra- 
marine," is  the  blue  that  this  artist  admires;  the 
forms  of  his  figures  are  long  and  affected ;  a  minia- 
ture-like gloss  is  seen  in  details  (which  applies  par- 
ticularly to  the  apple  which  Venus  holds),  while 
the  foreground  is  finished  with  the  utmost  delicacy 
and  primness. 

A  strange  French  conception  of  the  Judgment 
of  Paris  is  that  of  Watteau  in  the  Louvre.  It  is  so 
obviously  painted  simply  to  display  the  nude  back 
of  Venus  (the  rest  of  the  figures  being  sketched 
in  carelessly  and  all  out  of  drawing),  that  it  hardly 
deserves  to  be  classed  among  mythological  subjects 
at  all.  It  is  a  painting  of  a  nude  Parisian  model  of 
Watteau's  day.  The  thin-legged  Minerva,  with  her 
Gorgon  shield,  and  the  simpering  Juno  in  brocade 
and  stays,  require  no  comment. 

Marcantonio  engraved  a  Judgment  of  Paris  from 
a  design  of  Raphael.  The  grave  goddesses  stand 
about  the  shepherd  lad,  while  a  river-god,  with 
superb  anatomy,  reposes  on  the  reedy  shore. 

When  Paris  had   thus  pronounced  Venus  the 


•fceroes  of  tbe  Urojan  War         253 

Queen  of  Beauty,  she  had  promised  him  that  she 
would  give  him  a  woman  as  lovely  as  herself  to  be 
his  bride.  There  was  but  one  such  woman:  that 
she  was  already  the  bride  of  Menelaus  did  not 
trouble  Venus  in  the  least.  Fall  in  love  with  Helen 
of  Troy  Paris  should;  and  fall  in  love  he  did. 
Venus  was  responsible  for  the  whole  thing,  having 
planned  it  from  the  first. 

The  scene  of  the  plot  of  Venus  and  Cupid  to 
entangle  Paris  and  Helen  is  displayed  on  an  ancient 
bas-relief,  where  Cupid  is  seen  conducting  Paris 
to  gaze  on  the  perfections  of  Helen,  who  is  seated 
with  Venus,  at  the  foot  of  a  statue. 

Paris  became  the  guest  of  Menelaus  and  Helen; 
during  his  stay,  he  had  opportunity  to  make  love 
to  the  wife,  and  she  agreed  to  elope  with  him. 

David's  picture  of  Paris  and  Helen,  in  the  Louvre, 
is  the  most  exquisite  and  most  classic  of  all  the 
representations  of  the  subject  in  art.  Both  of  these 
figures  might  be  antique  statues  suddenly  endowed 
with  life  and  warmth.  Paris  is  sitting,  and  Helen 
stands  by  him.  It  would  be  difficult  in  any  picture 
to  match  so  subtle  a  drawing  of  surrender  as  is  in  the 
beautiful  half-yielding  form  of  Helen.  Her  head  is 
faultlessly  lovely;  her  downcast  eyes  show  that  she 
can  appreciate  that  her  decision  is  not  the  right  one, 
but  her  languishing  attitude  proves  that  the  decision 
is  made.  Her  beautiful  arm,  hanging  over  his 


254  Classic  /iDvtbs  in  Hrt 

shoulder,  that  he  may  caress  it,  is  indicative  of  her 
whole  state;  not  eagerly,  but  passively  and  irresisti- 
bly, she  is  drawn  away  by  him.  The  architectural 
details  of  the  picture  are  all  carefully  studied,  and 
show  accurate  knowledge  of  Greek  household  condi- 
tions. 

"  Now  many  misfortunes  are  wont  to  come  on 
men  through  love,"  as  Pausanias  says.  And  many 
misfortunes  followed.  The  false  step  of  Paris  and 
Helen  led  to  the  Trojan  War. 

Pictures  of  the  elopement  are  numerous.  Among 
the  quaintest  and  earliest  is  a  little  picture  by 
Benozzo  Gozzoli  in  the  National  Gallery.  In  quite 
a  crowded  thoroughfare,  among  Florentine  nobles 
in  all  their  best  clothes,  Paris  is  running  violently 
toward  the  water,  with  Helen  seated  "  pick-a-back  " 
on  his  shoulders,  holding  tight  around  his  neck.  It 
is  impossible  for  us  to-day  to  take  such  a  picture 
seriously,  and  yet  we  must  believe  that  Benozzo, 
in  his  ingenuous  soul,  thought  that  this  must  have 
been  the  way  it  happened!  They  are  making  for 
the  shore,  where  ships  are  awaiting  them;  various 
other  people  in  the  street  are  embracing:  whether 
these  are  intended  to  present  other  episodes  in  the 
courtship  of  Paris  and  Helen,  instead  of  an  attendant 
crowd,  is  matter  for  conjecture.  Paris  is  smiling 
broadly,  as  he  holds  his  curious  burden  in  place, 
she  being  perched  with  one  leg  on  each  side  of  his 


Deroes  of  tbe  Urojan  TRUar         255 

neck,  her  feet  sticking  out  ahead.  Helen  looks 
anxious  and  pained. 

Giulio  Romano's  Abduction  of  Helen,  in  Mantua, 
represents  a  shore,  with  a  boat  drawn  up  at  the 
right,  in  which  are  three  sailors.  Paris  and  Helen, 
in  a  great  hurry,  are  stepping  aboard,  their  clothes 
nearly  blown  off  them  in  their  excitement ;  at  the  left 
follow  two  maidens,  carrying  the  "  trousseau  "  in 
bundles.  Paris  looks  much  worried,  and  Helen's 
figure  displays  trepidation,  but  her  facial  expression 
is  vacant.  A  general  atmosphere  of  rush  and  con- 
fusion pervades  the  whole  composition,  quite  suitable 
to  the  occasion. 

Paris  Abducting  Helen,  by  Deutsche,  is  more  of  a 
"  pretty  picture,"  than  a  study  of  the  incident.  This 
anxious  moment  of  peril,  when  they  were  boarding 
their  craft,  was  no  time  for  such  coquettish  glances 
and  coy  simpering  as  are  here  displayed. 

Sir  Frederick  Leighton's  picture  of  Helen  on  the 
Ramparts,  awaiting  the  outcome  of  the  conflict 
between  Paris  and  Menelaus,  is  familiar.  One  sees 
in  the  beautiful  proud  bearing  and  anxious  face  that 
"  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

Raphael  gives  a  stirring  scene  of  the  Rape  of 
Helen  in  a  fresco  which  is  in  St.  Petersburg,  the 
drawing  for  which  is  in  Oxford.  Two  Trojans  are 
conveying  Helen  to  the  boat.  The  Queen  of  Sparta, 
kneeling,  turns  toward  a  man  who  is  holding  part  of 


Classic  flDtbs  in  art 


her  garment,  and  weeps.  The  Trojans  and  Greeks 
are  seen  at  the  right,  and  in  the  distance  the  palace 
of  Menelaus.  At  the  left  is  a  bridge  where  may  be 
seen  vessels  at  anchor,  and,  farther  away,  a  land- 
scape, with  soldiers.  This  fresco  is  largely  the  work 
of  pupils.  Originally  it  occupied  a  position  over 
a  door  in  the  Villa  Raphael,  in  Rome.  The  villa 
was  destroyed  in  the  siege  of  Rome,  in  1848,  but  the 
fresco  had  been  removed  in  1820  to  the  Camuccino 
collection,  and  was,  therefore,  preserved. 

Pausanias  tells  that  Menelaus  and  Helen  are 
reported  to  be  buried  at  Therapne  ;  but  he  adds  that 
the  Rhodians  say  that  Helen  was  hung  on  a  tree  — 
they  even  have  a  temple  dedicated  to  "  Helen  Hung 
on  the  Tree." 

The  marriage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis,  which  was 
the  famous  feast  when  Discord  threw  her  apple 
(occasioning  so  much  trouble),  has  been  the  subject 
of  many  pictures.  In  the  Prado  is  a  treatment  of 
it  by  Reyn,  after  Rubens  ;  and  in  Dresden  is  one  by 
Balen. 

The  son  of  Peleus  and  Thetis  was  the  famous  hero 
Achilles.  He  evidently  had  a  timid  mother.  While 
he  was  an  infant  she  took  the  precaution  of  dipping 
him  in  the  Styx,  by  way  of  rendering  him  invulner- 
able. No  sooner  had  she  successfully  accomplished 
this  feat  than  an  oracle  told  her  that  his  heel,  by 
which  she  had  held  him,  and  which  was  not  sub- 


1beroe0  of  tbe  Urojan  THIlar         257 

merged,  was  as  vulnerable  as  that  of  any  one;  and 
that  he  would  die  of  a  wounded  heel  in  battle. 
Lairesse  has  painted  the  scene  of  Thetis  dipping 
Achilles  in  the  river. 

So  when  Thetis  heard  of  the  war  which  was 
rumoured,  she  sent  her  son  off  to  the  court  of 
Lycomedes;  and,  so  that  he  might  not  be  recog- 
nized, she  made  him  assume  the  garb  of  a  girl.  We 
all  know  how  he  was  discovered  by  the  wily  Ulysses, 
who,  disguised  as  a  peddler,  brought  a  pack  of  goods 
for  the  women  of  the  court  to  examine,  and  how 
one  maiden  showed  so  much  pleasure  at  the  dis- 
covery of  a  sword,  which  she  brandished  gaily,  that 
Ulysses  recognized  in  her  his  lawful  companion  in 
arms,  who  was  straightway  pressed  into  service  in 
spite  of  his  mother's  prejudices. 

In  the  Prado  is  a  picture  by  Rubens  of  Achilles 
taking  and  wielding  the  sword,  thus  betraying  his 
sex.  There  are  two  pictures  of  Achilles  by  Battoni 
in  the  Uffizi;  one  representing  him  at  the  court  of 
Lycomedes,  and  the  other  his  education  by  the 
Centaur  Chiron,  who  taught  him  many  things  when 
he  was  a  boy,  before  he  was  sent  to  the  court.  There 
is  also  a  picture  of  this  latter  subject  by  Pencz  in  the 
same  gallery. 

In  the  Hermitage  Gallery  there  is  a  painting  by 
Paolo  de  Matteis,  a  pupil  of  Luca  Giordano,  repre- 
senting Achilles  at  the  court  of  Lycomedes. 


258  Classic  togtbs  in  art 

Achilles,  disguised  as  a  girl,  is  kneeling  by  a  chest  of 
jewels  and  bagatelles  of  various  sorts,  and  is  taking 
out  certain  articles  and  showing  them  to  the  daugh- 
ters of  Lycomedes.  Diomedes  and  Ulysses,  standing 
by,  recognize  him.  Diomedes,  at  the  left,  is  in 
Oriental  costume,  while  Ulysses,  on  the  right,  is 
clothed  in  gray. 

Several  of  the  scenes  in  the  life  of  Achilles  are 
represented  in  Pompeian  frescoes.  There  is  an 
ancient  illuminated  manuscript  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury at  the  Ambrosian  Library  in  Milan,  which  is 
a  copy  of  the  Iliad.  The  miniatures  are  the  full 
width  of  the  page,  but  the  colouring  is  heavy,  with 
an  undue  preponderance  of  reds.  No  gold  is  used, 
but  bright  ochre  instead.  The  costumes  are  partly 
Greek  and  partly  Roman.  Each  god  has  a  nimbus, 
in  which  the  colours  vary;  Jupiter  has  a  purple 
halo,  and  Venus  a  green  one.  There  are  several  of 
blue.  The  backgrounds  are  chiefly  vellum. 

Separate  incidents  in  the  Trojan  war  have  been 
selected  by  artists.  Flaxman,  the  sculptor,  made  a 
scholarly  set  of  drawings  which  practically  illustrate 
the  Iliad.  Among  these  events,  which  have  so 
appealed  to  sculptors  and  painters  alike,  is  the  death 
of  Patroclus,  one  of  the  heroes,  a  close  friend  of 
Achilles. 

There  is  a  fine  statue  in  the  Loggia  di  Lanzi  of 
Ajax  bearing  off  the  body  of  Patroclus ;  and  in  that 


•fceroes  of  tbe  ttrojan  War         259 

great  museum-studio  in  Brussels,  Wiertz  has  left 
a  painting  representing  the  fight  between  the  Greeks 
and  Trojans  for  the  body.  It  is  a  masterly  piece 
of  true  realism;  men  are  reduced  by  their  passions 
to  simple  knots  of  straining  nerves  and  sinews, 
clutching  at  each  other,  and  dragging  at  the  scarf 
which  winds  the  body  of  Patroclus  at  such  a  cruel 
rate  that  the  body  seems  likely  to  be  torn  asunder; 
all  are  in  a  mad  whirl,  and  yet  the  action,  however 
complicated,  is  kept  clear  to  the  spectator,  in  a  very 
wonderful  way ;  one  man  is  stooping  low,  his  head 
beneath  the  legs  of  the  dead  body;  just  below  his 
ribs,  in  his  bent  back,  a  spear  has  been  thrust,  and 
the  folds  of  flesh  pushed  back  by  it  are  rendered 
with  fierce  accuracy.  The  spear  is  bending  with 
the  power  of  the  thrust.  The  nude,  white  body  of 
Patroclus  is  extended  horizontally,  and  shows  up 
ghastly  and  startlingly  against  the  dark  skins  and 
clashing  arms.  The  spirit  of  warfare  is  in  this 
picture;  like  all  of  Wiertz's,  it  was  painted  with  a 
definite  vision  before  him  of  what  he  intended  to 
portray.  There  is  no  suggestion  here  of  a  head  or 
a  leg  being  inserted  to  fill  a  space  in  the  composition ; 
the  arrangement  is  natural  rather  than  studied. 

Another  scene  which  has  a  picturesque  element 
in  it  is  that  of  Thetis,  the  mother  of  Achilles,  bring- 
ing to  him  a  set  of  armour  which  had  been  made  for 
him  in  the  forge  of  Vulcan,  under  her  superintend- 


a6o  Classic  flDytbs  in  Hrt 

ence.  Thetis,  the  daughter  of  Nereus,  a  sister  of 
Amphitrite,  naturally  travelled,  when  convenient, 
by  water.  She  and  the  nereids  carried  the  armour  to 
Achilles  in  a  car  drawn  by  sea-horses,  and  accom- 
panied by  Tritons.  The  story  is  told  in  the  Iliad. 
I  use  Pope's  translation: 


"Tkis   done,   whatever  warrior's   use  requires 
He  forged;    the  cuirass  that  outshone  the  fires, 
The  greaves  of  ductile  tin,  the  helm  impressed 
With  various  sculptures,  and  the  golden  crest 
At  Thetis'  feet  the  finished  labour  lay; 

Soon  as  Aurora  heaved  her  Orient  head 
Above  the  waves,  that  blushed  with  early  red 
(With  new-born  day  to  gladden  mortal  sight, 
And  gild  the  courts  of  heaven  with  sacred  light), 
The  immortal  arms  the  goddess-mother  bears 
Swift  to  her  son." 


On  a  sarcophagus  in  the  Vatican  may  be  seen  a 
series  of  very  pleasing  reliefs  of  Thetis  and  the 
nereids  bearing  the  armour  of  Achilles. 

There  is  a  picture  by  Gerard  of  this  journey  of 
Thetis  with  the  armour.  Thetis  stands  in  the  car, 
and  holds  the  helmet,  while  sea-nymphs  and  sea-men 
carry  the  other  parts.  The  shield,  at  the  right,  is 
supported  by  two  of  these  finned  beings,  while  a 
nereid  rides  on  one  of  the  sea-horses,  extending  her 
hand  to  show  where  the  army  is  encamped.  In  the 


Iberoes  ot  tbe  Urojan  Wiat         261 

air  are  the  usual  irrelevant  Cupids,  and  a  flying 
Victory,  with  a  wreath  and  a  broad  palm. 

A  painting  in  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  by 
Regnault,  represents  Automedon  with  the  horses 
of  Achilles.  While  it  always  seems  that  the  red 
mantle  of  Automedon  makes  the  colour  scheme  less 
interesting  than  it  would  be  had  the  drapery  been 
blue  or  green,  it  is  satisfactory  to  many  observers. 
The  horses,  which  are  of  an  active,  luxuriant  type 
which  we  seldom  see  now,  may  have  been  the  exact 
kind  of  animal  with  which  Greek  battle-fields 
abounded ;  but  the  bronze  horses  in  Venice  are  more 
like  the  horse  as  he  has  survived  with  us. 

A  pathetic  incident  is  that  of  the  departure  of  the 
young  Hector,  leaving  his  wife,  Andromache,  and 
his  infant  son,  and  going  to  meet  his  death.  Poor 
Andromache  beseeches  him : 

"'In  pity  keep  within  the  fortress  here 

Nor  make  thy  child  an  orphan,  and  thy  wife 
A  widow.'  .  .  . 

Then  answered  Hector,  great  in  war,  'All  this 
I  bear  in  mind,  dear  wife;   but  I  should  stand 
Ashamed  before  the  men  and  long-robed  dames 
Of  Troy,  were  I  to  keep  aloof  and  shun 
The  conflict,  coward-like.'" 

So,  as  in  the  picture  by  Maignan,  Hector  drives 
off  in  his  chariot,  throwing  a  parting  kiss  to  his  fair 


26*  Classic  flDBtbs  in  Hrt 


young  wife,  who  holds  the  infant  up  for  its  father's 
last  look. 

Thorwaldsen  and  Canova  have  both  sculptured 
Hector  and  Andromache  ;  and  among  the  drawings 
of  Flaxman  is  a  beautiful  study  of  Andromache 
fainting  on  the  walls  of  Troy  when  she  sees  her 
husband's  body  dragged  at  the  chariot-wheels  of 
Achilles. 

Sir  Frederick  Leighton's  Andromache  is  a  tragic 
and  powerful  composition.  The  mourning  woman 
sits  in  the  centre  of  a  group  who  are  variously 
employed  in  the  details  of  Greek  daily  life.  The 
figure  is  full  of  gloom,  suggesting  dread  anticipation 
for  the  future  of  her  son,  and  sorrow  for  her  own 
loss. 

Homer's  works  being,  as  it  were,  the  Bible  of  the 
Greeks,  these  scenes  from  the  Iliad  were  fraught 
for  them  with  almost  sacred  significance. 

Of  the  numerous  adventures  of  Ulysses  only  a  few 
claim  our  attention.  On  his  way  home  from  the 
Trojan  war  he  met  with  many  mishaps,  and  some 
of  them  have  formed  the  subjects  for  painters. 

Turner  has  painted  a  fantastic  sea-piece  which  he 
has  called  Ulysses  Deriding  Polyphemus.  After 
escaping  from  the  cave  of  the  Cyclops,  where  his 
crew  were  nearly  all  eaten  by  the  giant  (possibly 
the  origin  of  the  story  of  Jack  and  the  Bean  Stalk), 
Ulysses  and  his  companions  sailed  amid  a  hail  of 


DOSSO   DOSSI. — CIRCE. 


•fceroes  of  tbe  TErojan  IPdar         263 

rocks,  which  were  hurled  after  the  vessel.  This 
episode  is  the  one  chosen  by  Turner.  The  ship,  saij- 
ing  toward  a  distant  sun-burst  on  the  horizon,  is, 
indeed,  beset  with  perils.  The  Cyclops  in  the  sky 
is  seen,  a  huge,  shadowy  form,  hurling  rocks,  and 
one  can  see  where  they  hit  the  water  from  the  foam 
and  spray  dashing  up. 

Every  one  knows  about  Circe;  the  enchantress, 
whose  arts  made  swine  of  her  guests,  —  not  an  un- 
common talent  in  enchantresses  even  in  our  own 
time.  Ulysses,  having  sent  his  crew  ahead  of  him, 
was  distressed  to  learn  of  their  fate,  and  decided  to 
visit  Circe  himself,  and  try  to  deliver  them.  With 
good  advice  from  the  shrewd  Mercury,  he  fearlessly 
approached.  When,  after  he  had  eaten  at  her  table, 
the  enchantress  commanded  him  also  to  become  an 
animal,  Ulysses  threatened  to  kill  Circe  instead  of 
yielding.  She,  then,  terrified  at  this  unusual  mani- 
festation of  rebellion,  released  the  companions  of 
Ulysses  from  their  enchantment,  and  in  due  time 
the  travellers  moved  on. 

The  Circe  of  Burne- Jones,  that  eccentric  com- 
position in  which  the  human  figure  is  made  to  occupy 
a  horizontal  position  instead  of  a  vertical  one,  is  a 
beautiful  piece  of  drawing.  Circe,  a  typical  British 
beauty,  is  preparing  the  draught  for  Ulysses  and  his 
men.  The  three  boats  are  seen  through  the  low  win- 
dow. The  clever  use  of  the  horizontal  feeling  in 


264  Classic  flD^tbs  in  Hrt 

this  picture  suggests,  almost  without  one's  realizing 
it,  the  brooding  deceit  and  underhand  subterfuges 
of  the  sorceress. 

The  Circe  of  Dosso  Dossi,  at  Ferrara,  is  a  curious 
conception,  and  suggests  rather  a  sibyl  of  the 
Renaissance  than  a  Greek  enchantress.  It  is  a 
charming  picture,  however,  and  has  a  certain  spell 
about  it,  which  shows  that  Dossi,  in  his  own  way, 
felt  the  subtle  power  of  the  story  of  sorcery  and 
witchery  just  as  much  as  Burne-Jones  did,  though 
he  expressed  himself  differently.  Symonds  says 
of  Dosso  Dossi's  Circe,  that  it  is  worthy  to  rank 
with  the  best  Renaissance  work.  Glowing  with 
colour,  there  is  a  quaint,  romantic  air  about  its 
mediaeval  qualities  which  give  charm,  even  though 
it  does  not  follow  the  classic  ideal.  "  It  is  perfectly 
original,"  says  Symonds,  "  not  even  suggesting  the 
influence  of  Venice  by  its  deep  and  lustrous  hues." 

The  Circe  of  Riviere  is  a  less  artistic  picture  than 
either  of  those  just  described.  The  sorceress  is  not 
enveloped  in  mystery  of  any  kind;  she  is  simply  a 
coarse  person,  of  rather  vulgar  tastes,  sitting  on  a 
step  hugging  her  knees,  surrounded  by  a  drove  of 
pigs.  The  picture  is  unattractive,  and,  if  we  grant 
that  an  element  of  miracle  and  enchantment  should 
form  the  environment  of  this  weird  character,  it  may 
be  said  to  be  unreal. 

Ulysses's  adventure  in  being  cast  upon  the  island 


•fceroes  ot  tbe  Urojan  Mar         265 

of  the  Phaeacians  with  no  clothes  on,  is  also  fre- 
quently chosen  as  a  subject  for  pictures.  The  fact 
that  the  king's  daughter,  Nausicaa,  brought  him 
what  he  needed,  and  straightway  lost  her  heart  to 
him,  is  the  chief  reason  why  this  event  is  empha- 
sized. 

In  the  Pitti  Palace  is  a  landscape  by  Rubens,  in 
which  the  figures  are  introduced  to  represent 
Ulysses  and  Nausicaa ;  but  they  are  only  accessory, 
and  the  details  are  not  interestingly  conceived. 

The  Ulysses  and  Nausicaa  of  Salvator  Rosa, 
which  is  in  the  Hermitage,  is  an  example  of  a  stormy 
scene,  after  this  artist's  own  heart.  Ulysses,  having 
been  cast  upon  the  island  of  the  Phaeacians  without 
his  clothing,  the  philanthropic  daughter  of  the  king 
comes  forward  with  raiment  for  him.  The  ingenu- 
ous maiden  did  not  consider  it  at  all  necessary  to 
send  the  garments  by  a  messenger.  There  are  three 
other  girls  in  the  composition  who  seem  to  be 
terrified  at  the  adventure,  although  one  of  them 
is  more  concerned  about  the  threatening  weather 
than  shy  of  Ulysses. 

Ulysses  receiving  the  clothing  from  Nausicaa  is 
well  and  graphically  portrayed  by  Guido  Reni,  in  a 
picture  which  now  hangs  in  Naples.  The  king's 
daughter  sits  upon  a  sort  of  outdoor  throne,  sur- 
rounded by  her  maidens.  She  is  really  lovely,  —  not 
in  the  least  affected  —  and  not  rolling  her  eyes 


266  Classic  ribgtbd  in  Hrt 

about  in  any  direction,  as  Guide's  ladies  nearly 
always  do.  Ulysses  is  seen  nude,  at  the  left,  singu- 
larly free  from  embarrassment  in  the  face  of  the 
group  of  women.  He  is  well-painted  and  handsome, 
wearing  a  pointed  beard.  He  is  almost  Assyrian 
in  type.  The  "  wash  "  is  hanging  on  a  line  near  by, 
for  this  happened  to  be  the  day  when  Nausicaa  and 
her  maidens  had  been  attending  to  the  laundry  de- 
partment, by  the  river's  bank.  Nausicaa  holds  in 
her  hand  a  little  bat  of  flat  wood,  such  as  is  used 
in  ping-pong  to-day.  The  women  had  been  play- 
ing ball  when  interrupted  by  the  advent  of  the 
denuded  stranger.  This  picture  of  Guido  Reni's 
is  among  the  most  interesting  that  he  painted,  and 
is  hardly  as  familiar  as  it  deserves  to  be. 

All  this  time  the  Patient  Penelope,  the  wife  of 
Ulysses,  was  waiting  for  him  at  home,  beset  by 
suitors,  and  with  no  tidings  of  her  lord.  Truly  her 
example  is  an  excellent  one,  in  that  she  sat  at  her 
loom  weaving,  and  carrying  on  her  household  duties 
in  unwavering  faith  during  this  trying  period! 

In  the  Vatican  is  an  ancient  statue  represent- 
ing Penelope  sitting  thinking  (as  she  must  occasion- 
ally have  done),  her  finger  pointing  to  her  brow 
in  a  highly  archaic  manner,  and  yet  reminding  us 
a  good  deal  of  some  of  the  attitudes  of  Leonardo 
da  Vinci's  characters. 

Pinturicchio's  charmingly  quaint  picture  of  the 


•foeroes  of  tbe  Trojan  TKflar         267 

Return  of  Ulysses,  in  the  National  Gallery,  London, 
cannot  be  too  highly  praised.  Its  peaceful  domes- 
ticity contrasts  delightfully  with  the  strife  of  battle. 
It  is  a  fresco,  brought  from  the  Palace  of  the  Pe- 
trucci  in  Siena.  Penelope  sits  at  her  loom,  diligently 
working.  The  suitors  —  a  set  of  sentimental  Um- 
brian  youths,  one  with  a  hawk  on  his  wrist  —  seem 
also  commendable  for  their  patience  in  waiting,  as 
they  stand  about  in  stiff  attitudes  in  the  foreground. 
Ulysses  is  seen  entering  the  door  in  the  guise  of  a 
beggar,  while  Telemachus,  his  son,  a  beautiful  and 
spirited  figure,  advances  toward  his  mother.  Out 
of  the  window  is  seen  a  point  of  land  jutting  into  the 
water,  —  on  this  may  be  distinguished  Circe  and  her 
transformed  guests,  and  in  another  place  Ulysses 
falling  from  a  raft,  which  is  upset  by  Neptune. 
There  is  also  the  well-rigged  ship  on  which  Ulysses 
is  bound  to  the  mast,  in  order  to  escape  the  lure  of 
the  Sirens.  Harpies  and  Sirens  originated  from  a 
common  myth,  and  were  closely  allied  to  the  pre- 
siding geniuses  of  death.  The  Greeks  adopted  their 
type  from  the  human-headed  bird  with  which  the 
Egyptians  represented  the  soul  of  man.  The 
history  of  Ulysses's  temptations  is  thus  spread  out, 
and  also  the  situation  of  virtue  at  home  is  displayed. 
A  little  maid  sits  by  Penelope,  winding  yarn,  and  a 
cat  has  gotten  hold  of  the  end  of  the  thread  and  is 
playing  With  it. 


268  Classic  /IDptbs  in  art 

Among  the  adventures  of  yEneas,  his  stay  at  the 
court  of  Dido  is  the  favourite  subject  among 
painters.  Guerin  has  painted  this  queen  as  a  sort  of 
Madame  Recamier,  listening  to  a  well-bred,  curly- 
locked  personage  in  a  very  top-heavy  helmet. 

Among  the  JEg'ma  Marbles  in  Munich,  two  of  the 
figures  of  the  warriors  are  known  as  Paris  and 
y£neas.  Paris  may  be  distinguished  by  his  cap 
with  the  turning-over  top.  He  is  about  to  draw  his 
bow,  and  is  on  one  knee;  ^neas  is  behind  him,  in 
the  act  of  raising  a  weapon. 

On  the  fall  of  Troy,  y£neas,  with  his  family,  fled 
from  the  city,  and  started  by  sea  to  search  for  a  new 
abiding-place.  With  his  aged  father  on  his  back, 
his  little  son  by  the  hand,  and  his  wife  following, 
he  left  his  native  city  in  flames,  and  began  a  new 
career. 

Perhaps  the  most  familiar  painting  of  this  group 
is  that  of  Raphael  in  his  Incendio  Borgo  in  the  Vati- 
can. The  stalwart  young  Trojan,  with  his  father 
crouching  on  his  shoulders,  and  the  charming  figure 
of  the  child  who  accompanies  them  with  an  ex- 
pression of  delight  at  the  new  adventure,  are  all 
well  known.  It  was  a  fanciful  idea  of  Raphael's 
to  introduce  these  classic  figures  into  the  scene  of  the 
fire  in  Rome;  the  Pope  at  the  window  quelling  the 
conflagration,  is  in  strange  contrast  with  the  Greek 
scene  at  the  left.  yEneas  and  his  father  and  son 


Deroes  ot  tbe  Trojan  Mat         269 

escaped  safely  to  the  boats,  but  his  wife  was  lost  on 
the  way. 

^Eneas  fleeing  from  Troy,  by  Luca  Signorelli,  in 
the  Academy  at  Siena,  is  a  curiously  crowded  panel, 
with  a  mixture  of  Greek  and  mediaeval  Sienese 
motives,  ^neas  is  dressed  quite  as  a  Greek  might 
have  been  dressed,  and  yet  he  looks  like  a  Sienese, 
playing  Greek  at  carnival  time.  His  father,  Anchises, 
in  well-disposed  garments,  sits  astride  upon  his  neck, 
cheering  him  on,  while  the  son  runs  by  his  side. 
The  most  conspicuous  thing  about  the  picture  is  the 
figure  of  the  leaping  wife,  Creusa;  she  is  jumping, 
with  both  hands  and  one  foot  thrown  high.  Troy 
burns  in  the  distance,  and  many  other  refugees  are 
seen. 

In  Munich  there  are  two  pictures  dealing  with  the 
flight  of  ^neas;  one  by  Breughel,  and  one  by 
Elsheimer.  In  the  latter,  the  Trojan  horse  is  visible 
in  the  background,  and  the  scene  is  at  night. 

^Eneas  in  art  is  usually  associated  with  his  flight 
from  Troy,  or  with  his  sojourn  in  Carthage,  where 
Queen  Dido  was  engaged  in  superintending  the 
erection  of  a  great  city,  she  herself  having  been  a 
refugee  from  Tyre.  The  story  of  Dido  and  ^Eneas 
is  a  romantic  one,  and  an  outline  of  their  adventures 
is  necessary  to  the  proper  appreciation  of  the  vari- 
ous works  of  art  dealing  with  the  subject  of  their 
loves. 


270  Classic  flDgtbs  in  Brt 

Venus,  once  again,  was  responsible.  She  led 
1/Eneas  to  Carthage,  and  presented  him  to  Dido,  who, 
enchanted  with  his  attractions,  had  a  feast  prepared 
at  once,  and  for  some  time  entertained  the  hero. 
When,  at  length,  the  young  widower  decided  that  his 
duty  called  him  elsewhere,  and  he  took  a  final  and 
fond  farewell  of  the  queen,  the  unhappy  Dido  built 
herself  a  funeral  pyre,  and,  mounting  it,  burned 
herself  within  sight  of  the  departing  ships  of  yEneas. 
It  seems  as  though  JEneas  were  destined  always  to 
sail  by  the  light  of  some  sort  of  conflagration ! 

The  picture  of  Dido  building  Carthage,  by  Turner, 
is  a  view  of  the  city  as  it  lies  along  the  river-bank. 
The  usual  sunburst  of  light  at  the  horizon  accom- 
panies the  composition.  A  few  small  figures  are  to 
be  seen,  but  they  are  subordinate. 

The  meeting  of  Dido  and  JEneas  in  a  wood,  by 
Pietro  da  Cortona,  is  in  the  Louvre,  and  shows  the 
two  warriors,  laden  with  arrows,  having  landed  on 
the  shore,  while  Dido  hastens  to  meet  them  with 
outstretched  hand  of  welcome.  She  carries  a  long 
bow  in  her  other  hand,  and  is  accompanied  by  an 
appropriate  escort  of  Cupids,  one  of  whom,  from 
above,  shoots  at  ^)neas,  who  is  starting  back  as  if 
already  hit.  In  the  background  the  ships  are  seen 
unloading  on  the  shore. 

In  the  fourth-century  Latin  manuscript  of  Virgil 
in  the  Vatican,  the  adventures  of  ^neas  are  given  in 


Deroes  of  tbe  Urojan  War         271 

a  series  of  miniatures,  which  are  fascinating  on  ac- 
count of  their  archaism.  There  are  fifty  pictures, 
not  as  artistically  excellent  as  those  in  the  Ambro- 
sian  Iliad.  Fluid  gold  is  used  in  these  miniatures, 
and  the  backgrounds  are  painted,  and  so  the  quality 
of  the  vellum  is  less  emphasized  than  in  the  Iliad 
manuscript.  The  drawing  shows  some  dawn  of 
Byzantine  influence,  rather  than  remains  of  Greek 
grace. 

The  hero  may  be  seen  superintending  the  building 
of  Carthage,  which  appears  to  be  constructing  a 
subway;  in  another  miniature,  he  meets  Dido,  sit- 
ting on  a  throne  upon  the  end  of  a  pier;  the  wooden 
horse  is  seen,  with  the  army  descending  from  a  trap- 
door in  its  side  (the  horse  is  about  large  enough  to 
accommodate  two  men),  and  in  another  place  may  be 
observed  the  apparition  of  Hector  to  ^Eneas,  who 
is  sleeping  on  a  couch  quite  alone  in  a  spacious  hall. 
Then  follow  scenes  of  his  landing  at  Crete,  and 
being  seen  off  the  coast  of  Troy;  after  this  Dido 
occupies  the  scene;  she  reproaches  him  with  large, 
uplifted  forefinger  for  venturing  to  contemplate 
departure ;  she  is  next  seen  in  an  open  loggia  at  the 
top  of  a  building,  bewailing  the  prospect  of  separa- 
tion ;  and  in  the  next  miniature  she  stabs  herself  on 
the  funeral  pile,  and  there  expires,  in  the  midst  of 
an  excited  throng  of  women.  Scenes  from  the  visit 
to  Hades  ensue ;  then  ^Eneas  is  seen  sailing  rapidly 


272  Classic  flDgtbs  in  art 

by  the  shores  of  Circe,  where  a  row  of  beasts  are 
sitting  at  table,  apparently  with  bibs  on,  waited  upon 
by  the  siren  herself.  The  transformation  of  the 
ships  of  the  Trojans  into  sea-nymphs  is  a  surprising 
display;  there  is  not  a  little  imagination  shown  in 
this  miniature,  where  we  see  mermaids  terminating 
in  gondolas,  with  oars  out  at  the  sides. 

In  the  twelfth-century  manuscript  of  Virgil  in  the 
Vatican,  there  is  a  naive  illustration  of  Dido  and 
y£neas  in  the  grotto ;,  they  have  taken  shelter  from  a 
pouring  rain,  which  fills  the  rest  of  the  composition 
with  vertical  lines.  The  chief  objects  of  interest 
are  seated  close  together  (in  fact,  in  a  conventional 
Byzantine  embrace)  in  a  rectangular  cave  at  the 
right;  two  horses  and  two  soldiers  remain  outside 
in  the  rain.  One  warrior  has  cleverly  arranged  his 
circular  shield  as  an  umbrella,  and  sits  beneath  it, 
protected  from  the  weather,  with  his  feet  serenely 
crossed. 

A  realistic  shipwreck  of  ^Eneas  was  that  by  Perino 
del  Vaga,  in  the  Doria  Palace  in  Genoa;  unfortu- 
nately, being  in  oil,  it  was  destroyed  by  time.  Vasari 
describes  it,  and  speaks  of  the  infinite  variety  in  the 
attitudes  of  the  living  and  the  dead,  and  the  number 
of  ships  and  galleys,  some  being  shattered  by  the 
storm.  The  facial  expression  of  horror  of  those 
who  are  about  to  perish  is  especially  commended. 

The  Death  of  Dido  by  Liberate  de  Verona,  in  the 


Deroes  of  tbc  Urojan  War         273 

National  Gallery  in  London,  exhibits  the  work  of 
this  artist,  who  was  primarily  an  illuminator  of 
books,  in  all  his  leading  characteristics.  Dido  stands 
aloft,  perched  upon  the  top  of  a  superb  architectural 
erection,  which  it  seems  a  shame  to  burn  up;  it  is 
a  magnificent  catafalque,  which  must  have  cost  the 
distressed  queen  much  thought  and  expense  in  con- 
struction. The  entire  court  is  assembled  to  watch 
her  expire,  and  no  one  raises  a  hand  to  dissuade  her 
from  her  rash  purpose. 

If  space  permitted,  it  would  be  interesting  to 
deal  with  many  other  pictures  which  illustrate 
classic  myths ;  but  for  a  volume  of  this  proportion, 
it  is  not  possible  to  do  more  than  indicate  the  best- 
known  works  of  art.  We  trust,  however,  that  the 
subject  may  be  of  interest  to  the  student,  and  that  his 
enjoyment  of  certain  pictures  may  be  quickened 
when  he  recognizes  in  them  an  effort  to  illustrate 
some  of  the  legends  of  Hellas. 


THE   END. 


\ 


Bibliography 


BARRY,  OPIE,  AND  FUSELI. —  Lectures  on  Painting. 

BULFINCH.  —  The  Age  of  Fable. 

MAXINE  COLLIGNON.  —  Manual  of   Mythology. 

CROWE  AND  CAVALCASSELLE.  —  History  of  Painting  in  Italy. 

C.  L.  EASTLAKE.  —  The  Louvre  Gallery. 

C.  L.   EASTLAKE.  —  The  Brera  Gallery. 

C.  L.  EASTLAKE.  —  Notes  on  Pictures  in  Munich. 

C.  L.  EASTLAKE.  —  The  Venice  Academy. 

EURIPIDES.  —  Tragedies. 

C.  M.  GAYLEY.  —  Classic  Myths. 

GUERBER.  —  Myths  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

HANDBOOK  TO  GALLERIES  in  Dresden,  Vienna,  Munich,  Naples, 

The    Netherlands,    Rome,    Florence,    Venice,    London,    St. 

Petersburg. 

HESIOD.  —  The  Theogony. 
HOMER.  —  The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey. 
KARL  KAROLY.  —  Paintings  in  Florence. 
KARL  KAROLY.  —   Paintings  in  Venice. 
KERR-LAWSON.  —  Museo  del  Prado. 
LUIGI  LANZI.  —  History  of  Painting  in  Italy. 
VERNON  LEE.  —  Renaissance  Fancies  and  Studies. 
VERNON  LEE.  —  Euphorion. 
LA  FENESTRE.  —  La  Louvre. 
LA  FENESTRE.  —  Florence. 

27S 


276 

MAHAFFY.  —  Greek  Civilization. 

MORELLI. —  Italian   Masters   in   German   Galleries. 

MORELLI.  —  Critical  Studies  of  Italian  Painters. 

DR.  JOHN  MOORE.  —  Travels  in  Italy. 

DOMENICO  MONACO.  —  The  Naples  Museum. 

OVID.  —  The  Metamorphoses. 

PAUSANIAS.  —  Description  of  Greece. 

PLUTARCH.  —  Lives. 

VON  REBER. —  Ancient  Art 

A.  SOMOFF.  —  La  Gallerie  de  1'Hermitage. 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS.  —  Renaissance  in  Italy. 

TAINE.  —  Italy. 

TAINE.  —  Philosophy  of  Art  in   Greece  and   Italy. 

ACHILLES  TATIUS.  —  Cleitophon  and  Leucippe. 

THEOCRITUS.  —  Idylls. 

GIORGIO  VASARI.  —  Lives  of  the  Painters. 

VIRGIL.  —  The  ^neid. 

WINCKELMANN. —  History  of  Ancient  Art 

WORNUM.  —  History  of  Painting. 


Unbex 


Achilles,  145-147;  Armour, 
256-261. 

Achilles  Tatius,  9,  54,  220. 

Acis,  20-24. 

Acrisius,  39. 

Actaeon,  112-115,  117. 

Adonis,  76,  82-87. 

ALgma.  Marbles,  268. 

y£neas,  268-273. 

^Eschylus,  240. 

Agamemnon,  124. 

Agenor,  46. 

Ajax,  258. 

Albani  (or  Albano)  Proserpine, 
29  ;  Europa,  54  ;  Venus,  78  ; 
Venus  and  Cupid,  79;  Mer- 
cury, 139. 

Albani  (Villa),  243. 

Aldobrandini    Villa,   93,    109, 

147- 

"  Allegory  of  Spring,"  229. 
Allston,  82. 
Amalthea,  12. 
Amazons,  200  et  seq. 
Ammanati,  194. 
Amphitrite,  16-19,  26o. 
Anchises,  269. 
Andromache,  261. 
Andromeda,  218-227. 
Annunzio  (G.  d'),  159. 
Antaeus,  193. 


Antiope,  57. 

Antiope,  Queen  of  Amazons, 

201. 

Apelles,  3,  13. 
Apollo,  n,  88-109,  I20>  l& 

178. 

Apollodorus,  211. 
Ares.     See  Mars. 
Argus,  61,  142,  143. 
Ariadne,  2,  156-162,  199. 
Artemis.     See  Diana. 
Atalanta,  238-241. 
Atalanta's  Race,  241-243. 
Athena.     See  Minerva. 
Athens,  36,  130,  205,  207,  208. 
Aulis,  126. 
Aurora,  96-100,  181,  184,  186, 

187. 

Bacchantes,  164. 

Bacchus,  2,  150-162,  177. 

Balen,  161,  256. 

Bandinelli,  Orpheus,  171  ; 
Hercules  and  Cacus,  195  ; 
Laocoon,  248. 

Barberini  (Juno),  32,  1 78  ;  (Pal- 
ace), 55. 

Bargello,  86,  152,  194. 

Barry,  190. 

Bartholomew,  Ganymede,  238. 

Baths  of  Constantine,  165. 


277 


278 


Unfcex 


Battle  of  the  Giants,  6-9,  16. 

Battoni,  257. 

Beccafumi,  144. 

Bellini,  Giovanni,  Bacchus,  155. 

Belucci,  1 80. 

Belvedere    (Apollo),   90,    122, 

172,   178. 

Bembo,  Graces,  232. 
Benson,  158. 
Berlin  Gallery,  18,  36,  69, 1 16, 

135- 
Bernini,    26;    Apollo   and 

Daphne,  95. 
Bernouille,  64. 
Beyle  (Henri),  27. 
Beyschlag,  171. 
Bion,  84. 

Blanc  (Charles),  53,  218. 
Bodenhausen,  180. 
Bologna   (Giovanni   di),    Mer- 
cury, 140, 178;  Centaur,  210. 
Bordone  (Paris),  2. 
Borghese  Gallery,  37,  207. 
Borghese,  Villa,  25,  76,  115. 
Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts, 

31,    82,    186,    235;   Autom- 

edon,  260. 
Both  (Jan),  143. 
Botticelli,  Venus,  66, 134,  157  ; 

Pallas,    132;     Mars,     134; 

Mercury,      1 44 ;      Centaurs, 

209;    Flora,  212,  229. 
Boucher,  148. 
Bouguereau,  153. 
Brera  Gallery,  29,  82,  95. 
Breughel,  Proserpine,  28,  85  ; 

Diana    and    Actaeon,    113; 

Bacchus,  161  ;  ^Cneas,  269. 
Bridgewater  Gallery,  75. 
British  Museum,  205. 
Bronzino,  78. 
Brunswick  Gallery,  185. 
Burckhardt,  66. 
Burne-Jones,  212,  213,  264. 


Cacus,  193,  195. 

Calisto,  59. 

Callistratus,  151. 

Calvart,  46. 

Calydonian  Hunt,  238,  247. 

Cambridge,  73. 

Campagnola,  62. 

Camuccino,  177. 

Canova,  177,  179,  198,  207; 
Perseus,  216;  Hebe,  235; 
Daedalus  and  Icarus,  244; 
Hector,  262. 

Carthage,  269-273. 

Castor  and  Pollux,  37. 

Castiglione,  22,  172. 

Cellini,  196,  211  ;  Perseus, 
214. 

Centaurs,  199,  204-210 

Cephalus,  181-187. 

Cerberus,  25,  29,  172. 

Ceres,  26,  27,  29-31,  174. 

Cicagni,  12. 

Circe,  2,  263,  264-272. 

"  Cleitophon  and  Leucippe," 
9,  54,  220. 

Clovio  (Giulio),  238. 

Colonna  Gallery,  99. 

Contarini,  76. 

Corot,  Diana's  Bath,  114; 
Orpheus,  169. 

Correggio,  Danae,  2,  43 ;  lo, 
2,  62;  Leda,  36;  Antiope, 
57,  58  ;  Apollo  and  Marsyas, 
92;  Diana,  in,  118;  Mer- 
cury, 141  ;  Ganymede,  237. 

Corsini    Gallery,    79,   86,   96, 

US,  139- 

Cortona,  no;  Carpione,  161  ; 
Dido,  270. 

Cosimo  (Piero  di),  96;  Mars 
and  Venus,  135;  Cephalus 
and  Procris,  181-184;  An- 
dromeda, 222,  227. 

Cossins,  10. 


279 


Courtat,  Leda,  38. 

Coypel,  Perseus,  226. 

Crawford,  Orpheus,  172  ;  Hebe 
and  Ganymede,  235. 

Creusa,  269. 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  42, 
57,  72,96,  155.  165. 

Cupid,  2,  24,  25,  29;  Titian's, 
42 ;  Van  Dyck's,  44,  57,  63, 
64;  in  Art,  81-83,  94,  106, 
119,  133,  147;  and  Psyche, 
172-180  ;  on  a  Centaur,  207, 

233- 
Cyclops,  20, 144,  145,  147,  263. 

Daedalus,  243-246. 

Danae,  2,  39-46,  76,  211. 

Danneker,  162. 

Daphne,  94-96. 

Darmstadt,  70,  74. 

Darwin,  245. 

David,  178  ;  Paris  and  Helen, 

253- 

Decharme,  9. 
Deutsche,  255. 
Diana,  9,  11,  25,  59;  in  Art, 

110-128, 239. 
Dido,  268-273. 
Dobson  (Austin),  181-182. 
Domenichino,  Apollo   and 

Marsyas,    93;  Muses,    109; 

Diana's  Hunt,  115;  Vulcan, 

147. 

Donatello,  93. 
Dossi  (Dosso),  Circe,  2,  264; 

Endymion,    119;    Hercules, 

190 ;  Ganymede,  238. 
Draper    (H.    J.),    Lament    for 

Icarus,  246. 
Dresden    Gallery,    8,    23,    28, 

39.  44,  53.  70,  77,  106,  109, 

"9,  133,  I59>  186,237,238, 

251. 
Dulwich  Gallery,  56,  74. 


Eastlake,  93. 
Echo,  1 66. 
Elsheimer,  269. 
Endymion,  118-120. 
Euridice,  167-172. 
Euripides,    5,    16,    124,    150, 

153- 

Europa,  2,  46-56. 
Eurytion,  204. 

Farnese  Palace,  34;  Hercules, 
188. 

Farnesina  Palace,  21, 133,  141, 
192,  214;  Villa,  234;  Ra- 
phael's frescoes,  172-178. 

Fates,  240. 

Ferrara,  79,  98,  190,  264. 

Fiske  (John),  5. 

Flaxman,  258,  262. 

Flora,  228-231. 

Forest,  143. 

Francesco  Franck,  Amphitrite, 
18 ;  Muses,  108. 

Frankfort,  162. 

Fruili,  236. 

Furies,  240. 

Fuseli,  78,  100. 

Galatea,    2,    19-24,  157,   175, 

176,  234. 

Ganymede,  235-238. 
Garofolo,  133,  161. 
Gayley  (Professor),  4. 
Genoa,  Doria  Palace,  8,  272. 
Gerard,  Thetis,  260. 
Gherardi,  12,  99. 
Giordano  (Luca),  148, 159,  161, 

197,  251. 
Giorgione,     Venus,     70,     72 ; 

Apollo     and    Daphne,   96 ; 

Satyr     and     Nymph,     163 ; 

Achilles,  257. 
Giotto,  3. 
Girodet,  118. 


280 


Gleyre,  197. 

Goldsmith,  140. 

Gonzaga  (Eleonora),  72. 

Gorgon's  Head,  90,  130,  216. 

Gozzoli,  254. 

Graces  (Three),  173,  177,  230, 
231-234. 

Graie  (Three),  212. 

Guercino,  Venus,  78 ;  Aurora, 
97  ;  Endymion,  1 1 8  ;  Ceph- 
alus  and  Procris,  186. 

Guerin,  187,  268. 

Guido  Reni,  Venus,  77  ;  Apollo 
and  Marsyas,  93 ;  Aurora, 
97  ;  Bacchus,  153,  160,  161  ; 
Cupid,  1 80;  Cephalus  and 
Procris,  185 ;  Andromeda, 
226 ;  Atalanta,  243  ;  Ulysses, 
265. 

Haarlem    (C.    von),    Bacchus, 

155- 

Harpies.     See  Sirens. 
Hawthorne,  163. 
Head  (Guido),  Iris,  234. 
Hebe,  235. 
Heinz,  28. 
Hector,  261,  271. 
Helen,  253-256. 
Herculaneum,  162,  225. 
Hercules,  Pollajuolo,  2,9,  188- 

195- 

Hermitage  Gallery,  St.  Peters- 
burg, 23,  41,62,  71,  73,  75, 

92,    115,    136,   148,   l6l,  222, 
255,  257,   265. 

Hero,  1 80. 

Hesiod,  6,  25,  144,  162. 
Hippodamia,  204. 
Hippomenes,  241-243. 
Homer,  3,  16,  no,  262. 
Horner  (Misses),  193. 
Hydra,  192. 
Hyppolite,  201. 


Icarus,  244-246. 

Iliad,  258,  271. 

Ingres,  67. 

lo,  2  ;  in  Art,  60-62,  142,  143. 

Iphigenia,  123. 

Iris,  234. 

Ixion,  1 68. 

"  Jabberwock,"  247. 

James  (Henry),  52,  131. 

Janus,  177. 

Jason,  247. 

Jordaens,  161. 

Jove.     See  Jupiter. 

Juno,  in  Art,  32-34,  60,  151, 
174,  176,  178,  188,192,234, 
250-253. 

Jupiter,  2,  6,  7,  1 1,  12  ;  Acces- 
sion of,  13-15;  Loves  of, 
32-62,  150,  176,  178,  191, 
211,  236;  Raphael's,  174- 
175- 

Kanochus,  63. 
Kranach,  Venus,  76. 

Lacedaemonians,  212. 

Lairesse,  109,  257. 

Landor,  169,  242. 

Laocoon,  121,  248. 

Lapithae,  204. 

Latona,  120,  123. 

Layard,  155. 

Leander,  180. 

Lecomte,  53. 

Leda,  2,  33,  34. 

Lee  (Vernon),  3,  67,  69,  80,  92, 
184,  235. 

Lefebre,  Diana,  114. 

Leighton  (Sir  F.),  Orpheus, 
171;  Helen,  255;  Andro- 
mache, 262. 

Leochares,  237. 


flufcex 


281 


Liberale  de  Verona,  272. 

Lichias,  198. 

Loggia  diLanzi,  211,  214,  258. 

Lorraine  (Claude),  23. 

Lotto,  Juno,  34. 

Louvre  Gallery,  19,  57,  92,  106, 

no,  118,  132,  144,  146,  154, 

187,  207,  253,  270. 
Lucian,  208. 
Lucretius,  231. 
Ludovisi,  Juno,  34 ;    Medusa, 

217;  Mars,  133. 
Ludovisi  Villa,  97. 
Luini,  Venus  and  Adonis,  82  ; 

Apollo    and     Daphne,    95 ; 

Vulcan,  148. 

Luteri  (Giovanni),  Aurora,  98. 
Luxembourg,  38. 
Lycomedes,  257. 

Mabuse,  45. 

Madrid,  Prado  Museum,  8,  10, 

28,  73,  77,  85,  87,  94,  107, 

US,  134,  MS,  161,171,241, 

257. 

Maignan,  261. 
Mantegna,     Parnassus,     106; 

Mercury,   143. 
Mantua,  Palazzo  del  Td,  7,  23, 

99,  H7»  *79>  246,  255. 
Marathon,  127. 
Maratta,  Galatea,  23. 
Marcantonio,  252. 
Mars,    u,    80,    130;    in   Art, 

133-138,  148,  177. 
Marsyas,  91-94,  138. 
Matteis  (P.  de),  257. 
Medici,  64,  65,  179. 
Medusa,  211-218. 
Meldola,  62. 
Meleager,  238. 
Menelaus,  253. 
Mengs,  105,  1 80. 
Mercury,  29,  54,  61,   106;  in 


Art,  138-144;  Raphael's, 
174,  175,  177,  178,  211  ; 
Botticelli's,  230. 

Michelangelo,  Leda,  2,  23,  39, 
8 1  ;  Adonis,  86;  Bacchus, 
152;  Cupid,  180;  Hercules, 
195  ;  Centaur,  206  ;  Long- 
fellow's, 215;  Ganymede, 
238. 

Mieris,  161. 

Miglione,  161. 

Milan,  258,  271. 

Millet  (F.  D.),  31. 

Milo  (Venus  of),  64. 

Milton,  88. 

Minerva,  II,  13;  in  Art,  129- 
133,  178,  211,  213,  217, 
250-253. 

Minotaur,  199. 

Moore  (Dr.  John),  52,  93,  95, 
117,  122,  164,  1 88,  207, 
225. 

Moreau,  170. 

Morelli,  37,  43,  70,  72,  96,  116, 
119. 

Moretto,  87. 

Moschus,  46. 

Munich  Gallery,  12,  16,  30,45, 
58,  93,  105,  117,  123,  126, 
143,  161,  164,  180,  192,  197, 
203,  268,  269. 

Musagetes  Apollo,  89. 

Muses,  99 ;  in  Art,  100-109, 
170;  Muse  of  Cortona,  100, 
139.  !77- 

Naples  Museum,  17,  34,  41, 
46,  64,  125,  140,  162,  163, 
164,  179,  191,  197,  222,  236, 
239,  243,  265. 

National  Gallery,  Jupiter,  12; 
Venus,  59;  Mars,  134;  Bac- 
chus, 159;  Ganymede,  238; 
Judgment  of  Paris,  250; 


282 


flnfcei 


Paris  and  Helen,  254  ;  Ulys- 
ses, 266 ;  Dido,  273. 

Nausicaa,  265. 

Neide,  179. 

Neptune,  n,  13;  in  Art,  15- 
I9»  29>  133>  177,  241. 

Niobe,  120-122 ;  in  Florence, 

121. 

Ocean,  6. 

Olympus,  6,  7,  II. 

Omphale,  189,  196-198. 

Orbetto,  161. 

Orestes,  127. 

Orpheus,  167-172. 

Orvieto,  27,  171. 

Otricoli  Jupiter,  35. 

Ovid,  3  ;  Pluto  and  Proserpine, 
25,  26,  30;  Europa,  47; 
Calisto,  59 ;  lo,  60 ;  Apollo, 
90  ;  Daphne,  94  ;  Actaeon, 
112;  Niobe,  120;  Latona, 
123;  Mercury,  138;  Euri- 
dice,  167;  Perseus,  219; 
Ganymede,  236 ;  Calydonian 
Hunt,  238 ;  Daedalus  and 
Icarus,  244. 

Palma,  Venus,  2  ;  Graces,  234. 

Pan,  91,  164,  165. 

Paris,  138,  250-256,  268. 

Parma,  1 1 1 . 

Parmigianino,  65  ;  Endymion, 

119,  238. 

Parnassus,  103-109. 
Parthenon,   13  ;  Metopes,  204. 
Pater  (Walter),  67. 
Patroclus,  258. 
Pausanias,    13;     Juno,   32; 

Venus,   63  ;    Minerva,   1 29  ; 

Armour,    137;    Sileni,    164; 

Hercules,      189;     Theseus, 

199,    206;     Medusa,    218- 


222 ;    Furies,    240 ;    Relics, 

241;    Icarus,   246;    Helen, 

256. 

Pegasus,  106,  139,  225. 
Peleus,  256. 
Pellegrino,  Hebe,  236. 
Pencz,  257. 
Penelope,  266. 
Pergamus,  7. 

Perseus,  40,  138,  211-227. 
Perugia,  80,  137,  140. 
Perugino,  Venus,  80 ;  Apollo, 

98;     Mars,    137;    Mercury, 

140. 

Peruzzi,  133,  192,  214. 
Phidias,  3,  13,  129. 
Phigaleia,  201,  205. 
Philostratus,  16. 
Phrebus.     See  Apollo. 
Pinturicchio,     92 ;     Penelope, 

266. 

Piombo  (Sebastiano),  87. 
Pirithous,  204. 
Pitti    Palace,    132,    153,    163, 

1 80,  189,  265. 
Plato,  3,  4. 
Plazer,  161. 
Pliny,  13. 
Plutarch,  201. 
Pluto,  ii,  13;  in  Art,  25-31, 

144,  177. 
Pollajuolo,    Hercules,  2,   192; 

Centaurs,  209. 
Polyhymnia,  100. 
Polyphemus,  1 8 ;  in  Art,  20- 

24,  263. 
Pompeii,     House     of    Tragic 

Poet,  34;  Vettii,   190;  Per- 
seus, 82,  125,  158,  225. 
Pordenone,  9;  Diana,  115. 
Poussin,  Parnassus,  107;  Ata- 

lanta,  241. 
Poynter,  242. 
Prado.  See  Madrid. 


flnfcex 


283 


Praxiteles,  Cupid,  7, 8 1 ;  Apollo, 

89;  Hermes,  138. 
Procris,  181-187. 
Prometheus,  9-11,  179. 
Proserpine,  in  Art,  25-31,  168, 

174. 

Psyche,  172-180. 
Punic  Wax,  100. 
Python,  90. 

Quincy  (Q.  de),  176. 

Rae  (Henrietta),  229. 

Raphael,  Galatea,  2,  21,  22, 
157  ;  Jupiter,  15,  70  ;  Venus, 
75,  77 ;  Apollo  and  Marsyas, 
92  ;  Apollo,  99  ;  Parnassus, 
103,  132;  Diana,  in;  Pal- 
las, 133;  Mars,  137;  Cupid 
and  Psyche,  1 72 ;  Paris, 
255  ;  Mneas,  258  ;  Mercury, 
141 ;  Graces,  234. 

Regnault,  261. 

Rembrandt,  Proserpine,  28, 
190 ;  Ganymede,  237. 

Reyn,  256. 

Reynolds  (Sir  J.),  190,  248. 

Rhea,  12. 

Ribera,  10. 

Ricci,  132. 

Riviere,  264. 

Rodin  (Auguste),  Ceres,  3 1 . 

Romano  (Giulio),  Titans,  7 ; 
Jupiter,  12;  Polyphemus, 
23  ;  Apollo,  99  ;  Muses,  102  ; 
Vulcan,  147  ;  Bacchus,  161  ; 
Cupid,  179;  Icarus,  246; 
Paris  and  Helen,  255. 

Rome,  Capitoline  Museum,  12, 
50,  64,  163,  210,  225  ;  House 
of  Livia,  21,  61,  198;  Ros- 
pigliosi,  226. 

Rosa  (Salvator),  Mercury,  143  ; 
Jason,  247  ;  Ulysses,  265. 


Rotterdam,  156. 

Royal  Academy,  229. 

Rubens,  Neptune,  18;  Pluto, 
28;  Venus,  81,85;  Apollo, 
94;  Diana,  116;  Latona, 
123;  Bacchus,  154;  Ama- 
zons, 203  ;  Andromeda,  224  ; 
Graces,  233  ;  Atalanta,  239; 
Paris,  250  ;  Ulysses,  265. 

Ruskin,  28,  53,  143,  155,  156, 
181,  183,  186,  196,  216,247. 

San  Luca  (Gallery),  60,  78,  160, 

234,  236. 
Sansovino,  Mars  and  Neptune, 

17;  Mercury,  142;  Bacchus, 

152. 

Sappho,  104. 

Schiavone,  96 ;  Parnassus,  105. 
Schidone,  115. 
Schobolt,  29. 
Schut,  148. 
Scopas,  7,  1 6,  64. 
Selinous,  202,  213. 
Semele,  150. 
Siena,  232,  267,  269. 
Signorelli,     27 ;      Pan,     165 ; 

Orpheus,   171;  ^Eneas,  269. 
Silenus,  163. 
Sirens,  267. 
Sodoma,  Leda,  38. 
Spenser,  104. 
Spranger,  197. 
Stillman  (J.  W.),  230. 
Stoughton  (J.  B.),  238. 
Symonds  (J.  A.),  2,  27,  37,  66, 

m,i34,  153,  157,  171,  178, 

183,   194,  202,  2l8,  223,  264. 

Taine,  3,  26,  42,  50,  65,  91, 
121,  140,  158,  163,  188,216, 
226,  232. 

Taraval,  19. 

Tate  Gallery,  246, 


284 


Tatti.     See  Sansovino. 

Tauris,  127. 

Telemachus,  267. 

Teniel,  247. 

Tennyson,  49. 

Theocritus,  20,  76. 

"  Theogony,"  6,  144,  150. 

Theseus,    156,    162,    199-210, 

243- 

Thetis,  148,  256,  259. 

Thorwaldsen,  147,  262. 

Tiepolo,  Neptune,  19;  Iphi- 
genia,  126;  Bacchus,  160. 

Tintoretto,  Bacchus  and  Ari- 
adne, 2,  156-159;  Leda,35; 
Danae,  46;  Parnassus,  1 06; 
Muses,  1 08;  Pallas,  130; 
Vulcan,  146 ;  Andromeda, 
222 ;  Graces,  232 ;  Gany- 
mede, 238. 

Titian,  Bacchus  and  Ariadne, 
2,  157,  159;  Danae,  40-43; 
Europa,  56 ;  Antiope,  57 ; 
Venus,  71-75,  86,  164;  Di- 
ana and  Actaeon,  114  ;  Bac- 
chanale,  161 ;  Bacchante, 
164;  Andromeda,  222; 
Flora,  228 ;  Graces,  233. 

Trojan  War,  258. 

Tura  (Cosimo),  Venus,  79. 

Turchi,  192,  197. 

Turin  Gallery,  46. 

Turner,  Proserpine,  28  ;  Mer- 
cury and  Argus,  142  ;  Hero, 
and  Leander,  181  ;  Cephalus 
and  Procris,  186;  Jason, 
247  ;  Ulysses,  262  ;  Dido, 
270. 

Uffizi,  35,  54 ;  Botticelli's 
Venus,  66 ;  Titian's  Venus, 
71  ;  Venus  and  Cupid,  78, 
85,  87,  94,  108,  118,  126 
154,  164;  Hercules,  192- 


194;  Flora,   228;  Laocoon, 

249;  Achilles,  257. 
Ulysses,  257,  258,  267-267. 
Utenwael,  109. 

Vaga  (Perino  del),  Titans,  8 ; 

Muses,  107  ;  Dido,  272. 
Van    D  y  c  k ,    Antiope,   59 ; 

Danae,  44. 
Vasari,  8, 12,  99,  1 19,  136,  144, 
152,  190,  193,  194,217,223, 
272. 

Vatican,  Muses,  103 ;  Niobe, 
122;  Europa,  49;  Silenus, 
164;  Orpheus,  170,  179; 
Perseus,  216;  Meleager, 
240  ;  Thetis,  260 ;  Penelope, 
266;  Virgil,  167,  270,  272. 

Velasquez,  Venus,  78  ;  Mars, 
134;  Argus,  143;  Vulcan, 
145. 

Venice,  Ducal  Palace,  12,  17, 
19.  49>  I3°i  146,232;  Acad- 
emy, 76,  99,  155,244;  Log- 
gietta,  142. 

Venus,  2,  5,  11,  19,25,  29,  34; 
in  Art,  63-87 ;  de  Milo,  64, 
134,  145-147;  Tintoretto, 
157;  Raphael,  173;  Botti- 
celli, 229,  241-242,  250-253, 
270. 

Veronese  (Paul),  Europa,  2, 
49-53;  Leda,  38;  Danae, 
45  ;  Antiope,  58  ;  Venus,  85, 
136,  158. 

Versailles,  27;  Diana,  no. 

Vertagnan,  117. 

Vien,  244. 

Vienna,  Gallery,  40,  53,  62, 
197,  237  ;  Volksgarten,  207. 

Vinci  (Leonardo  da),  2 ;  Leda, 
37;  Bacchus,  154;  Medusa, 
217- 

Virgil,  167,  270,  272. 


285 


Volterrano,  180. 
Von  Balen,  53. 
Von  Reber,  214. 
Vulcan,  11,  1 06;  in  Art,  144- 
149,  259. 

Walker  (C.  Howard),  109. 
Watteau,  Judgment  of   Paris, 

252. 
Werff  (Van  der),  Judgment  of 

Paris,  25 1 . 


West    (Benjamin),    Iphigenia, 

128. 
Wiertz,   Vulcan,    146;    Patro- 

clus,  259. 
Winckelmann,    22,    121,    122, 

228,  248. 
Woltmann,  158. 

Zephyrus,  229. 
Zeus.     See  Jupiter. 
Zeuxis,  10 1 ;  Centaurs,  208. 


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